


The Blond Sage

by Aella_Antiope, HARP0



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Violence, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:36:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HARP0/pseuds/HARP0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day after Wolfram suffers a most humiliating public blunder by Yuuri, a visitor arrives.  Blond and pretty, with the same name– this other-worldly Wolfram is identical, except for one small detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to lunarsensitive for feedback/beta.

“Over there! Get ‘em!” a castle guard shouted at the top of his lungs. Without hesitation, he began running with his sword at the ready. Five of the men with him swiftly followed in kind, booted feet stomping against the stone floor of Blood Pledge Castle. 

A thick, black shadow seemingly made by one of the sconces against the far wall suddenly stretched away from them, leaving a blood trail.

“Lord Weller, look!” one of his men said. Conrad nodded grimly.

“This way!” Gwendal called, more men, dressed in green, following in his wake, including a blond haired, green eyed little brother carrying a fireball aloft in his right hand. It left a golden streak of light behind him as he ran.

“Don’t take your eyes off! Don’t even blink!”

“Yes, Lord von Voltaire!” his men answered practically in unison.

They turned a corner.

The black shadow on the floor lengthened into a snake-like shape and began slithering –twisting back and forth rapidly, desperately seeking a way out and testing doors by literally slamming into them. One nearly gave way, giving a few centimeter’s gap, but Conrad ordered, “Bar your doors, everyone! And stay in your rooms!” and every single door along that corridor was quickly bolted by its prospective occupants—maids and castle servants mostly on this particular wing.

A dark shadow rose up. There was a distinctive, cobra-like hiss and a wide spray of something warm—droplets of some kind. 

“Cover your faces!”

A few soldiers were slow to react. These men screamed, clawing at their eyes.

“Sleep snake?! I can’t believe it.” Gwendal turned to his brother and said brusquely, “Heal them.” Then, he turned to the rest of the soldiers and ordered, “That way! Go!” And the men charged forth with their swords at the ready.

Conrad lagged behind a bit longer, quickly scanning their surroundings, while Gwendal and his men continued the pursuit.

“But, wait!” the blond demanded.

“We can’t debate this. Sorry…” There were times for arguments and there were times for action. Brown eyes searched above the mass of soldiers rushing forward and found… “Yozak!”

The spy had just appeared at the opposite end of the hallway, sword drawn and ready.

“Yes, my captain!” he called. His voice echoed slightly.

“I’m sending the men this way. We need to follow.”

A sincere nod. “Will do, sir!”

 _“Will do_ ,” the blond grumbled sarcastically. There was no point in arguing with Gwendal or Conrad, though, under these circumstances. Tracking and real life war strategies were their strengths, he had to admit begrudgingly. And it was impossible for him to ignore the panicked shrieks and groans of the men who were too blind with poison to see a foot in front of them. Worse yet, the venom of a sleep snake caused its victims to collapse and quickly fall into a stupor followed by uncontrollable salivating.

Dousing the fireball by squeezing his hand into a fist, he then pushed back his black cape so that he could kneel down and begin to heal the first victim. Once this one was healed well enough to find his way to Gisela, the man would be sent off to get more medical help.

A green glow continued to emit from his palm as it was hovered over tearful, bloodshot eyes. Minutes ticked by and he found that his healing was not skilled enough, not fast enough. The others were starting to fall into a strange, disturbing daze. “Damn,” he said under his breath.

“Sir?” the soldier said, squinting up at him. “I think…I think I can join the rest now.”

The blond shook his head “no.” There was no way this man could fight. “Your new mission is to save your comrades. Go find Gisela as quickly as you can. We need help now! Here!”

“Save…” he rasped. With a serious expression on his face, the soldier straightened himself up and took off at a pathetic, jellied walk back the way he’d come not that long ago. Meanwhile, the others needed attention and the blond reached out for the next man…

Until someone stepped up to his side.

“Yozak, glad you’re back. I could really use your help with this man. He’s quite heavy and I need…” Still talking, he casually turned his head to look up at the castle spy.

“Die!”

A topaz encrusted dagger lashed out.

“Damn!” Instinct told him to move. “You’re not Yozak!” he shouted, doing a shoulder roll to the right and conjuring another fireball. The man he was squaring off with was tall, had a large build, and red hair. But the face had a malicious grin that was wide—too wide. A slashed-mouth ghoul. And the teeth were tiny, rows upon rows of them.

Another slash.

“I’m not afraid of death! So, go to Hell…but you go first!” He conjured a fireball in each hand with a fire lion at his feet. The flaming creature roared and then leapt at the man, barely missing him. It rounded on him again and set one of the nearby tapestries on fire.

Both fireballs were launched. 

Nothing.

“Please tell me they didn’t send you to the academy in this world,” the assassin said derisively. “I’ve seen twenty year olds with better aim. It’s almost embarrassing. But,“ the man added conversationally, in a chillingly familiar accent “at least it makes my job easier.”

Trying again, he conjured up an even brighter, hotter sphere in his hand. It revolved slowly on its axis while a trajectory was plotted in his mind.

“It won’t work,” the intruder laughed and there was a tinge of madness there, or so it seemed. And to think he should have known this man better than anyone. Then again, insanity made things, unpredictable. 

This wasn’t good.

Smoke began filling the hallway, stinging his eyes. But, he had to do his best. He could beat this bastard. There was no other option. He knew he could. And he could win—for the safety of all within the walls of the castle. For the safety of the person he loved best of all.

The distant sound of stomping feet. A lot of them. Gwendal, Conrad, and the others must have doubled back just as the assassin had. Someone probably noted the smoke and had gone back to report. But this gave no real advantage. Once again, time was the issue. For, should the smoke get thicker this person would, somehow, manage to get away. Instinct told him that.

The yellow eyes of an animal glowed through the smoke. _Now where did he get that skill? What led him down this path? What brought him to this madness?_ Not that he’d ever know, the other-worldly assassin never seemed interested in conversation. There was only one way this could end.

“I guess, I can’t wait for the others.” The blond raised the embroidered hood of his black cape over his head. He put his hands together as in prayer, mumbling words in High Ancient Mazoku under his breath and the two rings he wore on his right and left thumbs began to glow. He projected his hands outward—sending a rod of purple-edged magic fire in the direction of the man. It passed him to the side and, then, twisted itself into a loop which hovered directly behind him. The membrane of the portal thinned in the middle and, then, opened--sucking in the grim figure, his body flying backwards with the rush of winds.

The assassin who laughed…with a few gold sparks in his hand…

The blond sighed, wiping his brow. It was amazing that he could do the job alone. Usually, he needed Gwendal’s help, his rings and his power. Four rings were unstoppable! But, this time, he was able to handle an assassin all on his own.

All alone…

His mind flashed back. _Gold sparks. Yellow stones in the dagger… He can warp fire magic, push it to one side! Oh, Hell! No wonder that bastard laughed at me!_

Green eyes widened.

A mistake...a big one...

_He’s not going to The Void! He’s trying to escape…!_

The portal of magic fire began to collapse upon itself.

_Now! It has to be now,_ he thought. 

The figure dressed all in black made a charge at the gateway, arms pumping hard. Green eyes looked one final time to where the sounds came from. Of voices, of marching feet. And, for a moment, he caught a glimpse of his brothers—calling desperately to him, distraught—as he plunged into the darkness. Vision black.

_I know. I’m sorry for hurting you this way. In time, maybe, you can even come to forgive me for this. And, should the gods choose to reincarnate me again, I pray…to be your brother once more. Yuuki’s forgiveness, though, would be asking for the impossible._

_Our bond is broken._

_I just know it._

~***~

“Only a little way to go,” Yuuri said happily as they rode past one of the last markers on the side of the road.

Wolfram was riding a couple of lengths behind, trying his best to keep some distance from Conrad and Yuuri as he could. After the last few days of abject humiliation, he was grateful to return to the capital. Now, if only he could go hide under his bed for the next week.

“It would be great to have a long, hot bath after this, huh, Conrad?” Yuuri said quite clearly. 

Wolfram cringed. He happened to be watching Sir Wagner as he rode alongside him, and Wagner frowned and gave Yuuri a death glare. 

“Wagner,” Wolfram said in a low voice, displeasure evident and his second in command gave him an apologetic look. 

Looking around him, Wolfram noticed none of his men could meet his gaze. There were clinks of steel armaments as a dozen or so of his men shifted uneasily in their saddles.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the support of his men, considering the general rumours that were spreading lately. But this was the Demon King and he expected utmost loyalty to the crown from the men under his command. His problems were trivial in comparison, of no consequence compared to the matters of loyalty to the king.

Wolfram pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, glaring at the midday sun and cursing the fact he had to spend the day in his heavy, formal dress uniform as he escorted the Demon King. 

Again, he set his sights on Conrad and Yuuri, trying his best to not let any of the turmoil show on his face. He couldn’t even be truly angry at either of them. Yuuri was, as usual, utterly oblivious and Conrad had spent the last few months being as formal as he could with Yuuri and putting effort into not being seen alone with the king. Of course, Conrad knew what was being said. He spent most of his free time with Yozak and it probably made him as uncomfortable as it humiliated Wolfram.

It was the beginning of the Fertility Festival, one of the most popular events in Shin Makoku that took place every five years. This was also the first with the new Demon King. And, after years of public engagement, there was a high level of expectation that Yuuri would make the relationship official. On the other hand, there was plenty of speculation, too. For, as time passed, Yuuri appeared to distance himself more and more from his fiancé. 

Yuuri and Wolfram were just now returning from the Radford Province after the harvest blessings. Every festival, The Maou would visit one of the provinces and give his blessings to the upcoming harvest and, this time, it was Radford’s turn. 

Wolfram sighed, thinking about how embarrassing that trip had been as Yuuri continued to chatter happily with Conrad in the background, pausing now and again to wave at the workers in the field. 

“It’s a simple ceremony,” Günter had said back in the castle explaining it to Yuuri. “All you need do is say a few words of blessing in a field of Lord Radford’s choosing and then...kiss your fiancé.”

“Oh,” Yuuri had said, the tone of his voice breaking Wolfram’s heart.

“What type of a kiss?” Yuuri had asked after a moment and Gwendal had frowned at them. “I mean, is it a peck or ...you _know_.” And to add insult to injury Yuuri had looked toward Conrad for advice. 

Conrad shifted a little on his legs, a frozen smile on his face.

Oh, for the love of the fates. Did Yuuri have to do this to him in front of his brothers? He thumped his fist on the desk and Yuuri jumped slightly.

“It’s a _Fertility_ Festival, Yuuri. What do you think?”

He gave Yuuri an angry look and Yuuri smiled nervously. 

“So...on the lips, then?” 

“Yes, Yuuri. On the lips,” Wolfram had answered sarcastically. 

There had been silence and Gwendal had then changed the subject. Wolfram never knew if Yuuri had gotten that advice from Conrad. He’d liked to think not because the whole thing had been a debacle. 

Lord Radford had not been impressed.

When the time came for the kiss, Yuuri had simply stood there—unmoving, giving Wolfram a look that appeared not that much different from a doe watching a dragon sweep down upon her, frozen in terror. Wolfram had waited a beat, then another and there were a few whispers from the hundred or so villagers who were gathered, along with Lord Radford and his family and Wolfram and Conrad’s men.

“Yuuri,” he’d hissed under his breath and Yuuri’s look of terror grew. 

There had been no helping it. If there was no kiss, there would be no blessing and the common folk were superstitious. So, he’d pulled Yuuri forward and pushed his lips against Yuuri, cupping his cheek so he could not move away. It had gone as well as everything had for Wolfram lately. Yuuri had allowed it, arms stiff against his body and eyes still openly staring at him in fright. He could feel Yuuri tremble under his hands. 

This was it. After four years of engagement, it had come to...to _this_. Yuuri could barely touch lips without freezing up. After months where Yuuri had avoided bathing with him, or sleeping as far as he could from him in the bed they shared, noticeably more the weeks before this were just as _perfect_ , as Yozak would say, sarcastically – “the icing on the cake.”

When he had pulled away from Yuuri, there was the scattering of half-hearted cheers. 

Nobody had been fooled. He’d retired early that night leaving Yuuri to deal with the festivities at the estate. He didn’t care about the gossip. After the kiss, nothing that happened afterward would be as shameful.

Well, no. There was still one more thing to endure. As much as Wolfram wanted to end this engagement now and slink back to his uncle in his family estate in the mountains, he still had to wait for the Fertility Ball in a little over two weeks time. It was tradition that an engaged king announce the date of his impending marriage at the event at midnight--a symbol of growth, fertility, and all those florid words that Günter was much too fond off. 

Wolfram was sure there would be no such announcement. He’d sit at Yuuri’s side, a smile painted on his face while half the court gave him pitying looks and the other sized up Yuuri as a koala would a particularly juicy slab of meat, many young noble women and men vying for the chance to be the next Royal Consort. Only then would Wolfram end the engagement and slink back to Bielefeld province.

He’d have done it months ago if only...his heart had not got in the way. He’d cared too much and held tightly to hope even when everyone else could see a chance had never existed. 

He had been a delusional fool. 

“Hey, Wolf,” Yuuri said, and Wolfram looked around to see Yuuri next to him giving him one of those bright, beautiful smiles. 

Wolfram never got to hear what Yuuri wanted to say. For, at that moment, the sky tore itself apart in purple-black flames and he’d been too busy trying to stop his horse from bolting to worry about it.

Thunder struck, the deep sound reverberated like cannon fire. And the ground shook roughly under them, cracking the land open in great, yawning gaps. Horses whinnied and reared, smelling the scent of fear in the air from their riders and blindly reacting to it. The ground shook again and the riders struggled to control their mounts as lightning flashed—blinding them, turning everything white for an instant. Wolfram looked to Yuuri. Even though Ao was a horse that was well trained and could be trusted, it would not be outside the realm of possibility that the animal was reacting the same way as the others and with Yuuri as the rider, an inexperienced rider at that, Wolfram knew that he might have to control both his own steed as well as Yuuri’s. Another flash of lightning robbed the world of its colours once more, making Wolfram squint while struggling with the reins and uttering curses under his breath. “Yuuri? Yuuri!?!” He looked over Yuuri’s shoulder to see a massive, grey swirling cloud-tunnel stretching into what seemed like black, infinite space. Sparks surged along the sides of the portal and it produced a threatening, rushing sound.

Black eyes widened impossibly. “Oi,” Yuuri shouted above the din, “I think there’s something in there!” He would have pointed but needed to keep his wits about him to stay on his horse.

“What?” Wolfram shouted back. It was impossible to hear and the abusive wind kept blowing his hair into his eyes.

And, then, just as quickly as it started…

Nothing.

The portal closed, leaving a blond figure lying on the ground for a brief moment. Without aid, he managed to struggle to his feet—returning the stare from those around him. And Wolfram's heart froze when he recognized the face.

It was his own.

"Is it a young Shinou?" one of the guards asked the other.

The stranger smirked. "I'm not Shinou. In fact, I doubt that he'd wear anything as sensible as this." He dusted his black clothing off for a second just to prove his point. Then, with an amused glance at those around him, he ran his fingers down the folds of his black tunic which hung like clergy-like robes. The material was studded with shiny, black beads, fine needlework on the hood and sleeves, and a rich gold pattern was embroidered across the chest. The high collar made gave the older style of clothing a formality, not unlike a uniform. And the sword at his side had a matching jet black hilt. 

Straightening up to his full height, he took in the people around him with greater care--meeting their eyes and, finally, settling upon Wolfram's. Green eyes met green, making Wolfram want to step back at the mirror image. "My name is Wolfram von Spitzweg..."

Wolfram's eyes widened. He’s a ... _Spitzweg?! Him?_

The stranger's smile widened. "Yes, I'm Wolfram...The Great Sage of Shin Makoku."

~***~

Wolfram’s mind seemed to blank out for a moment. In the background, he could hear the horses pawing the ground, still trying to sense whether or not the danger had truly passed. For, the riders, themselves, seemed unnaturally quiet.

A breeze—a normal breeze—blew past, making a leaf cartwheel by.

“I can’t believe you are the Great Sage. You’re suppose to be a double black,” Wolfram said frankly. 

“Well, it was arrogance on Shinou’s part, I suspect…making me in his own image.” He smirked in a Wolframish way, raking his fingers through his hair thoughtfully for a moment. “But, you know, I did try colouring my hair once, but it didn’t suit my complexion.”

Yuuri had rounded, horrified eyes going back and forth between the two blonds standing before him.

Sage Spitzweg said to Wolfram with slight amusement, “So, I guess you aren’t the Great Sage in this world.” And then he looked to Yuuri and went on, “I thought this world would be pretty much like ours. Apparently, I was mistaken.” Though, from the way he seemed to be smiling at the double black and pleasantly assessing his looks, being “mistaken” wasn’t such a bad thing, indeed, in his opinion. “So, I assume you are the Demon King. You are almost as pretty as Her Majesty back home.” 

He winked at Yuuri.

In response, Yuuri spluttered, totally astounded. Wolfram was all set to break something when Conrad intervened in his even voice--giving Wolfram a brief, warning look. Sage Wolfram watched the entire interaction with great interest.

“Perhaps, we should return to the Temple and introduce this other world’s sage to ...His Eminence.”

At that, Sage Wolfram murmured, “At least, someone here is acting in a way I’m familiar with.” And, lifting his eyes up, he gave Conrad a warm, brotherly smile—the likes of which the second son had not witnessed in many decades. It was young Wolfram’s smile. The one he kept reserved just for his “Little Big Brother.”

~***~

Murata was enjoying the sun on the balcony when he received the visitors. Life had been quiet lately, which was nice. He’d now found some spare time to close his eyes and let the warm rays lull him into a light doze. He wasn’t even troubled by any thoughts, or any intrusive memories. He had a moment to just be.

A rare moment of contentment.

That should have been a sign that things were going to go to hell. Because, only a few hours later, his eyes flicking between Lord von Bielefeld and the other…well, he wasn’t another Bielefeld, but virtually a twin, he had a sinking feeling that things were going to get very bad, indeed.

Sitting on the other side of Murata’s desk, between the ‘twins’, Yuuri had maintained a stunned appearance as Lord von Spitzweg, the Great Sage of another Shin Makoku, finished explaining the chain of events which led him stuck in their world. It was quite a tale.

“So, am I right to assume,” the blond sage said flatly “by the welcoming I received when I arrived, that trans-dimensional travel is not common here.” 

Murata nodded. “Trans-dimensional travel is just a theory. There are records of an occurrence long-ago in a time when I wasn’t incarnated in Shin Makoku. I know only brief details. I found the account while skimming the histories a couple of years ago. I’ll fish the records out later.” Murata rested his chin on his clasped hands, elbows firmly on his desk and searched his memories. “There is also ancient mazoku, pre-dating Shinou, engraved in the caves up north which talks about some type of crystal used to go between worlds. I always supposed it was some clue on an alternative method to travel to other worlds, such as Earth. I never could find any further information.”

Murata had looked into it at one time. Any other means of Earth-Shin Makoku transit would be useful and he had placed it as a priority, but apart from the inscriptions there had been nothing. He really should have looked further into the account of the trans-dimensional traveller further. He was annoyed he had not seen the connection.

“The Lodestar Caverns in the Black Barrens, I assume.” Spitzweg displayed his colourful rings on long, elegant mazoku fingers. The room wasn’t bright enough for the gems to sparkle the way they did. “That is also our first record of trans-dimensional travel. Other inscriptions were discovered in caves close by. They also had maps of the Southern Continent. Explorers traveled there three thousand years ago using it as a guide and discovered an abandoned quarry, quite ancient, where a colourless crystal was being mined. Initially, they assumed the crystals had been mined for their ornamental value. Though, they were puzzled why so much effort had been put into mining gems in such a remote location. The quarry is days away from the ruins of the old mazoku cities. A mazoku scholar in the expedition, quite by accident, discovered what the crystals mined there were capable of when she kept them in a box with some other gems.”

“Hmm, we’ve never done any in-depth exploration of the southern continent.” Everyone knew that the mazoku race had migrated from there long ago, but there had been no reason to go looking for the mazoku origins. The journey by boat to the southern continent was long and dangerous, and no monarch could justify the expense. Such an expedition was a historian’s dream, but until a safer way could be found to traverse the southern ocean, impractical. Or so Murata had thought.

Spitzweg suddenly looked tired. “I didn’t think there would be crystals here. In all the hundreds other worlds we have traveled to, only a handful of them had mazoku and human civilisation who mined it. In many others, Shin Makoku was occupied by Shimaron and the mazoku enslaved and the knowledge lost.” Lord von Bielefeld hissed in anger, but Lord von Spitzweg ignored him and continued. “In spite of knowing that, I had small hopes. It would have been valuable in eliminating the assassin. The crystals have so many uses.”

Murata shrugged his shoulders in apology. “As far as I know, there aren’t any crystals in Shin Makoku that match your description.” He had come across one report of a human trading ship that had been blown off course a century ago. Though lost, the ship had returned two years later with riches from the southern continent, but he wanted to verify the facts, before saying anything. No point in getting hopes up without being certain.

Besides, there was another thing he had to verify before going further. Something he should have addressed as soon as this sage with Lord von Bielefeld’s face had walked into his study. Murata had impulsively trusted Lord von Spitzweg, but he couldn’t gamble the kingdom’s safety on nebulous feelings.

Speaking in the tongue of Daikenja’s mother, a language long dead, he addressed Spitzweg: “Forgive me, but I’m sure you’ll understand the necessity that you prove your claim before proceeding.”

Spitzweg’s eyes became serious, and he spoke in kind. “When Shinou’s body was failing, he cried for me. He asked me to end his pain. I refused at first, but then he said that there was only one person he could trust. The sole person he loved that could help him ascend.”

Murata closed his eyes as the memory came to him, so vivid after all this time. He could suddenly feel Shinou’s presence. He’d been there all along, of course, but this revelation was a sore point for both of them. He could almost taste Shinou’s shame. Shinou was the great “God King” of Shin Makoku, heroic warrior of The Golden Age, and founder of the kingdom. Nobody saw his weakness like he had. Nobody else had seen how frightened he had been in his last moments of mortality, until now.

Murata knew it was a blow to Shinou’s pride, even after all that time, though personally, he never thought less of Shinou for it, quite the opposite really. It was one of Shinou’s most human moments.

This sage _also_ felt Shinou’s presence.

His eyes widened and he said, still in the same language, this time voice clipped. “Shinou is in your world?” More a statement than a question.

“Umm,” Shibuya said, having eyed them in confusion through that exchange and breaking through the sudden depressed mood. “Is there anything we need to know?”

“No,” the blond sage said amiably, the sudden change in Sage Spitzweg’s demeanour was unsettling. Did Murata come across like that to others? “Just reminiscing about the old days.”

“Murata?” Shibuya turned worried eyes on Murata looking for confirmation. 

Murata flashed Shibuya a reassuring smile and then said to Sage Spitzweg, signalling the end to that matter, “There is a lead on the crystals I want to investigate, but I can’t say more until I’m certain. It might take awhile to locate the information in the temple archives.” “Don’t get your hopes up,” he would have said to anyone else, but he knew this sage would take that as a given. The research would be an all-nighter. He’d relish the challenge if it was a purely academic exercise, but this situation was fraught and he felt the pressure.

“Do you want my help?” Spitzweg asked.

“Not now. I’ll speak to you further tomorrow. But, you are welcome to the castle archives, and I’m sure Lord von Christ will be glad to assist.” Murata didn’t waste time with niceties, and was grateful as Spitzweg nodded in understanding. It was a relief to have someone on the same wavelength.

Murata turned his gaze on Shibuya. Over the last year, Murata had always addressed him in a group, pushing him into the leadership role that was his duty and signaling to others who was in charge. “I’d suggest you take Sage Spitzweg to the castle and brief Lord von Voltaire and von Christ and _impress_ upon them the gravity of this threat.”

If Shibuya didn’t, he was sure Lord Weller and von Bielefeld were quite capable. Lord Weller had been, not surprisingly, silent for the last hour, leaning against the wall behind Shibuya and eyes not wavering from Spitzweg. If the blond sage was to so much as twitch in Shibuya’s direction, he’d find a blade at his throat.

“Sure, but won’t you come too?” There was hopeful look in Shibuya’s eyes as he asked.

Next to him, Lord von Bielefeld was silent, arms crossed and giving the other sage unsubtle looks of animosity. If Shibuya hoped he’d run interference, then he was mistaken. Shibuya’s responsibility to his fiancé was his and his alone. No matter what Murata’s feelings were on the matter, Shibuya was the one who needed to step up and act the adult he was.

Not just with his relationship, but in general.

For all that Shibuya had exceeded expectations a few years ago when he was sixteen and still new to this world, forging alliances with the human kingdoms, there was still a long way he had to go to fully make the kingdom his domestically. The king’s reputation abroad was far stronger than within the aristocratic council.

Shibuya had great potential as king, but now that he was considered an adult by human and mazoku reckoning, he’d not taken his role in court as well as Murata had hoped.

It wasn’t for lack of ability, but there was reluctance in Shibuya, something holding him back. If that couldn’t be addressed soon, Murata would have to be blunter and deal with the issue quickly. 

The nobles were quick to sense weakness. Shibuya had to stop expecting others would make the final decision, and stop relying on the Chancellor to take the leading role in court proceedings. Murata and Lord von Voltaire’s roles were strictly advisory and Shibuya needed to be reminded of that. 

Murata had hoped to bring the matter up after the ball, when things would still be quiet. He really should have known better than to wait, should have taken the opportunity before Shibuya had left for Radford. Now, as matters stood, Shibuya would need to step up immediately, the training wheels would have to go.

He suppressed a nagging feeling of guilt as he said in a manner that wouldn’t allow Shibuya to delay things further. “No, it’s more efficient if I investigate the records here first. I’m far more familiar with the temple library, at least in this world.” He gave Sage Spitzweg a nod as he said this.

Shibuya nodded, but looked none too happy.

~***~

The front gates closed, reverberating the sound throughout the temple. And minutes later, Murata found himself standing by a window, studying Yuuri and his party as they departed. Murata had promised that he would join them at the castle tomorrow to do research. He was certain that the book which discussed trans-dimensional corrosion was still in the temple archives somewhere. He would have to find the book and see the information with his own eyes. But he was not exactly looking forward to it. He had a feeling--a bad one.

Muarata felt a prickling at his back.

 

“I’m busy,” Murata said evenly as he turned to retrieve some of the reference books. He’d been through this too many times and today he truly wasn’t in the mood. There was too much on his mind right now. Still, out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Original King’s handsome figure form in the corner of the room surrounded by a shimmering light.

He could have easily been mistaken for a benevolent celestial being, but Murata knew better. Much, much better...

"It is elegant in a way, what the other Shinou did?"

"I shudder to think what you mean." Murata was trying to find that volume he knew had details of that one traveller who had come in from another dimension aeons ago.

"You have no idea, do you, my sage? Didn’t you wonder where Bielefeld's soul went to? In the other world?"

He stopped. Murata’s face paled. "He didn't...you wouldn't?"

"Well I could, but I decided against it because the consequences would have been too high. Believe it or not, I like existing."

"He destroyed a soul. There is no worse sin." 

"It seems likely. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to arrange things so you would be born near the next maou? There were a few moments there when I thought it would never have worked out just so...and I did...think, briefly mind you, about vacating a particular body using that particular solution."

Murata sat down woodenly on a chair. "Creating a ‘vessel’ you mean… Do you think _he_ knows?" He was referring to the other sage.

"If not, it's likely he'll get an inkling. He's bright enough, as you would know. I doubt the other Shinou exists anymore, and I'm sure this sage will have started to put the pieces together. The Fates are slow to act, but nobody has ever gotten away with such an action."

“Well,” Murata thought grimly, if anyone could, it would be you.

“Not when it comes to this.”

~***~

They were all sitting in the small meeting room, the one attached to his rooms...well, his and Wolfram’s. Yuuri had long ago given up any hope or even desire that Wolfram would move out. But that was beside the point; they were here to meet with this visitor. To decide what to do with the warning he had given them.

Yuuri didn’t know what to think of this “other Wolfram.” Half of him was freaked out...the other half, well, liked him. The weirdest part, he thought, was the fact that those conflicting feelings were for the same reasons.

The other Wolf, ‘Wolfram’ he decided to call him in his head, looked _exactly_ like Wolf, right down to that tiny, faint colored freckle on his nose. He’d looked. He’d shivered slightly when Sage Wolfram had given him a playful little smile when he was caught when they were riding over from the temple.

A lot of the mannerisms were _just_ like Wolf, too. The way he’d flick his hair back, the way he’d cock his head just so when he was interested in something that was being said by others – and the adorable little way he’d bite the right side of his bottom lip when he was thinking. Which was a surprise until he realised that Wolf had adopted a lot of those from his mother, and Wolfram’s mother was Lady Celi, the _other_ Celi, from the other world who was, presumably, exactly the same. So, of course, it made some sense. Maybe. Then again, it was a headache—trying to think too hard about it.

And then there were some mannerisms that weren’t Wolf’s which destroyed the illusion. And, once again, another familiar look would come to this Wolfram; it became way more noticeable to Yuuri when they were with Murata. Some minor tics, but mostly the way Wolfram would speak; his accent unique amongst the mazoku but without the intonation of Japanese which Yuuri associated it with. Wolfram placed his vowels the same way, with the same expressions. There was only one other who sounded like that. (It had taken a little while for Yuuri to work out why Murata’s speech was different...until the day he’d eavesdropped on Günter praising it to Gwendal and lamenting the foreign influences that had changed the purity of the mazoku dialect over the last thousands years).

Wolfram was a strange blend of “Wolf” and “Murata” –both familiar and foreign. And, once again, Yuuri didn’t know what to make of him.

“So, you say the assassin can take any form?” Gwendal said, sitting stiffly opposite Yuuri next to the unusually grim Günter. Gwendal regarded this other version of his little brother with a frown. This Wolfram was sitting to Yuuri’s left, his chin resting on his clasped hands, his fingers covered with those outlandish-looking jewelled rings, bright looking contrasted with his black embroidered tunic, his elbows on the table, a typical Murata pose. Lifting his head up, he gave Gwendal an unreadable, cool look (Yuuri thought Murata used his glasses to great effect with that. Apparently, the look could be pulled off effortlessly without them). 

“In essence, as long as the individual is familiar with the form he needs to take,” Sage Wolfram explained. “This person can also take on some of the surface memories. At the least, if he manages to touch the person he mimics, it can be good enough to deceive most people. Enough to deceive myself and my brothers.”

“So, it could be _you?_ ” Wolfram.... _Wolf_. _His_ Wolf said unsympathetically. Wolf wasn’t sitting to Yuuri’s right, his usual place in these meetings. This time, he was leaning against the window’s loveseat, arms crossed, and giving off a pissed off aura. Wolf had been silent and angry since the ritual. Yuuri didn’t blame him. His mind danced away from the sense memory of Wolf’s lips on his, his warm hands cupping his face.

Wolfram took no offense to this and placed his palms upwards and gave them all a wry grin. “It is possible, _Lord von Bielefeld,_ ” the almost cheeky Wolfram said the name with an ironic twist. “You have no reason to trust me. But why would I tell you this elaborate tale? If I was the assassin, I’d act as if I was a lost trans-dimensional traveller in need of help, another Wolfram, _exactly_ like you. There would be no reason for me to say anything about dangerous, shape-shifting assassins. If I wanted to slay your beautiful betrothed, I’d have ample opportunity.” 

This Wolfram ended those words with an impish smile directed at him and then at Wolf, such a gorgeous look, but with a knowing appearance which was just one shade removed from false coyness, a look that was very _un-Wolfram_ and jangled Yuuri’s emotions oddly.

Wolf’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing and looked away with a huff.

Yuuri didn’t miss the swift speculative gaze that Wolfram gave Wolf beneath it. He _knew_ Murata and under this beautiful-Wolfram version was the same quick intelligence. 

Wolf had a good point. Maybe, the assassin could take on forms well enough to fool everyone else, but he decided to take that chance. He had made a promise years ago to trust people.

“I trust you. Umm... At least, I trust that what you’ve said is true so far.” 

Wolfram inclined his head forward in a small smile, and gave them all a look, green eyes shrewd.

“Then, I suggest that we work together. But, before I speak further of the threat, I have to know what has been happening in your world for the last few months and if you have the same events impending that I am familiar with.”

~***~

_Wolfram looks good wearing black_ , was one of the first thoughts he had when everyone left. Wolfram’s fine, pale features contrasting against the richly embroidered coat he wore.

Yuuri was alone with Wolfram in the room. Well...not technically “alone” as such. Conrad was sitting at the other end of the room, casually reading a book. To all appearances, it looked as if Conrad was paying no mind to their presence. Yuuri knew better. After Wolfram had given them the account of the person they were facing, he doubted that Conrad would leave him alone for a second. Which, all things considered, wasn’t really that different from usual.

Wolf had been the first to leave, barely giving the other Wolfram a glance. He’d exchanged a few quiet words with Conrad before declaring he was going to check on his men before dinner. Gwendal and Günter had also departed to set up the new security measures. Yuuri didn’t have any other engagements that day. His schedule was empty to give him time to recover from the trip. Yuuri remembered how he’d looked forward to it before. It would be the last moment he’d have spare before the busy events leading up to the Fertility Ball. He’d wanted to spend some time with Wolf...to talk to him.

Wolfram gave him a slight smile. “Shibuya, I know you like to trust people. But Lord von Bielefeld was right, in a way. This person can take any form, so you need to be on your guard. You are king. So, most likely, you will be his _primary_ target. Monarchs generally are, you know.” He fingered the sword’s hilt at his side absently and only stopped when Conrad shifted in his seat. “But, of course, secondary targets have a nasty habit of turning up dead, too,” the blond added with mild distaste.

“And that could be someone like…?” Yuuri asked hesitantly.

He shook his head, dismissing the question. “No worries. Everything will turn out fine.”

“So...what’s your password again?” He said it as a joke to break the heavy atmosphere. The passwords Gwendal had given them all temporarily. He knew such lightheartedness would have pissed Wolf off, but it was something that Murata would have found a little amusing.

Sage Wolfram sighed, gave him a small smile, and said in an affectionate tone, “You are far too foolish.” Wolfram looked around the room and then at Yuuri. “It’s strange to see so many things familiar and yet…

“Different,” Yuuri finished for him. Because, yes, looking at Wolfram, he could entirely understand.

Wolfram got up and picked up a well worn book from the shelf behind him, the one that Murata always had opened.

“The same book I like, the same Conrad.” Wolfram looked down towards where said person was apparently engrossed in some thick book. Wolfram looked out the window. “The same castle I grew up in. I watched the sunrise here this morning with this book.” He said in a wistful voice.

Murata often stayed late but he left to sleep at the temple, or had his own rooms on another level. After all, this room was part of their suite...which meant....

“Umm, speaking of people in your world… I suppose, you’re close to ...the Demon Queen?” Yuuri asked tentatively. Close to his other self, the one that was a girl. He bet his mother would have been thrilled. She always wanted a girl. He felt almost sorry for Yuuki. She’d have to put up with all those frilly dresses for much longer. At least, by the time he was at school, it had been socially unacceptable for him to have his hair in pink pigtails.

“We were meant to marry just before the ball.” Wolfram looked down at him with a look of regret. There was silence for a moment. And then, “I sneaked into her rooms often, much to Günter’s and Gwendal’s disapproval.” Wolfram’s smile became wicked and Yuuri felt suddenly warm.

“Was it an accident, too?”

Wolfram gave him a bewildered look.

“The engagement. I accidentally proposed to Wolf. I slapped him. He made me angry.” He left out the part where Wolf insulted his mother; he didn’t want to badmouth him to this other Wolfram. Wolf...well, Wolf had changed so much and wasn’t the same as back then.

Wolfram laughed. “I can imagine, getting angry with Lord von Bielefeld.” Yuuri wondered what was meant by that remark. “We came upon Shibuya Yuuki at the border with the villagers threatening her and Adelbert being his typical, difficult self. Conrad fought Adelbert and I went to pull her onto my horse, to keep her safe, and _you_ slapped me. Nobody saw and she never knew what she was doing, of course. But, from that moment on, I considered myself engaged. She was so beautiful, looking outraged in a pirate outfit that Earth people dress girls in for their schooling, and, back then, her hair cropped short in a boy’s style.” Wolfram’s eyes had become distant in memory. “I knew then, she was the one. I never thought I’d meet such a one, in this life.” Wolfram gave him a lovely smile. “You aren’t that much different.”

“I’m not a girl,” Yuuri said, feeling a tiny bit insulted as well as flustered by Wolfram’s story and the fascinated look in those green eyes. 

Wolfram shook his head and gave him a classic wry Murata-like look and reached out and touched his hair and then with one elegant, ringed finger caressed his cheek.

“Not that much different.” Not thinking, Yuuri leaned into the touch, so familiar. Wolf’s hands, Murata’s amused drawl.

With a loud snap, Conrad closed his book and Yuuri jerked back guiltily.

“It’s getting late, Lord von Spitzweg,” Conrad said with perfect politeness. And Yuuri noticed the slight hurt look in Wolfram’s eyes as Conrad addressed him. “I should accompany you to your quarters so you can rest and be refreshed for dinner.”

Wolfram’s face recovered swiftly, becoming neutral. “Of course, Sir Weller.” 

After they left, Yuuri touched his hand to his cheek guiltily.

~***~

“Ah, food,” Yuuri said, looking to his left and catching his godfather’s eye. “I’m starved.” He glanced over his shoulder at the two walking behind him. “I hope you both are, too.”

“Yes,” identical voices replied in unison followed by a single, irritated “humph” at being copied.

Conrad opened the door and stood politely to one side. Greta, seeing them, left her seat at the table and came running up to Yuuri. “Hi! I’ve been looking all over for you.” She beamed at him, tilting her curly head up as always. The child’s smile shifted as a figure in black stepped away from behind Yuuri, giving her an inquisitive look.

“Wolfram, you look great!” She stepped up to him to inspect the black clothing with the ornate stitching across the chest and expert beadwork. The craftsmanship was so perfect, so elegant. With the left gold embroidered sleeve, she ran her fingers over the designs in wonder. “Truly amazing,” her face seemed to say. “Is this what you’re going to wear to the ball? Is it?” Greta asked excitedly. “Then, I know what’s going to happen when you go. Only the maou and those married to the maou can wear this color.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m so incredibly happy right now!”

“I don’t think you entirely understand,” Sage Wolfram began kindly as a blue clad blond approached them both with a hard look sliced in the sage’s direction. 

She gaped. “Wolf…ram?” Greta worried, retreating a few steps on instinct. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the pair before her. “What’s going on?” she asked the room. The stress in her voice was building. “I don’t… I just…” she shook her head fearfully.

“It is fine. Not to fret, my child,” Sage Wolfram soothed, leaning down a bit to be more on her level. “I’m not his twin.” He thumbed at Wolfram who only scowled back. “In the human lands, twins are considered extremely unlucky. Many times, the second twin is killed shortly after birth,” he translated for Yuuri and got a hollow “oh” in return. His attention stayed with Greta. “So, since we are not ‘twins’ you don’t have to worry about all of those exciting but not factual stories… There is no ‘peaceful’ twin and ‘war-like’ twin. We are not the same soul split into two bodies. And, one of us is not a beautiful god while the other is…” He flashed a wicked grin in Wolf’s direction. “…A ferocious, knuckle-dragging… nincompoop.” 

The child blinked at that. “A nincom…poop…?”

He winked. “A great Earth word to know.”

She tilted her head to one side, thinking. “Well, I do know what ‘poop’ is because The Great Sage taught me…”

“Oh, what has he been teaching our daughter now?!” Wolfram swiveled to Yuuri with a livid expression. The double black put his palms up in a pacifying way. “English, I suppose. And Greta picks up words pretty quickly.”

“Well, no more strange ‘Engrish’…!”

“It’s ‘English’.”

“Ask me if I care!”

“Well, Greta, ” Sage Wolfram went on, ignoring the bickering, “I have something for you. I hope you’ll like it.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single coin. He offered it in the palm of his hand to her. It gleamed a golden-coppery color and she cocked her head at it. Then, his nimble fingers tore back the foil and revealed…

“Chocolate!” she said.

“You like it?”

“I love chocolate!”

“Then, please enjoy.”

Greta took the coin and unwrapped the rest of it with the utmost care. Then, she slipped the foil into her pocket, popped the yummy treat into her mouth and smiled to herself—chewing .  
“Hmmm…” the sage said, pretending to scan her face for something. “I bet I can find another.” He made elaborate movements in the air with his hands, swept the fingers of his right hand behind Greta’s ear, and pretended to produce a coin from it. “Look!” With a smug smile, he handed it over to eager little fingers this time.

“Wow!” She turned to the double black, holding the next precious treat reverently. “Isn’t he amazing, Yuuri?”

Absently, Wolfram straightened the antique neckchain on his uniform and stared a hole into the floor with a sarcastic, “He’s certainly something.” It was growled loud enough for the room to hear. Conrad’s constant smile wavered for a moment and Yuuri could feel the vibe in the room definitely shift into an unpleasant direction.

Maybe, fire would become involved.

“D-Dinner?” Yuuri suggested, starting to sweat a little. “It’s about time, don’t you think?” he asked the room.

Conrad straightened his shoulders and gave a distinct, polite nod. “Definitely. I’d say it’s time.”

“Yes,” the sage agreed, seemingly a little too at home in the Dining Hall. “I’m absolutely starved.”

“Too bad Lady Celi is out of town,” Greta muffled through her bite of chocolate while taking her chair. “I think she’d enjoy seeing the two of you together….ummm…mister…?”

“My name is Wolfram von Spitzweg.”

Greta’s eyes flew open at that. “Oh! So, you’re my Papa Wolf’s cousin or something?”  
Wolfram choked “Cousin?” into his goblet of water, but the sage liked that very much, indeed. “Yes, something like that,” he charmed. “But you may call me ‘uncle’. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Yes!”

“I knew it would.”

Wolfram frowned deeply and glared at the double black sitting next to him with his hard, green eyes. “Well, Yuuri? What do you have to say to that?”

“Uhhh…well…” Yuuri laughed uncomfortably and placed his hand behind his head.

“Here,” Greta said to the sage, “Sit next to me…Uncle Wolfram!”

“You wouldn’t be telling me that so you can get more chocolate, would you?” he laughed.

“You have more?”

“Of course.”

“Yuuri,” and a blue clad elbow poked him in the ribs, “we have got to talk…as soon as possible.” The words were gritted out and under his breath.

The double black looked apprehensive--clearly dreading the end of the meal—until Conrad joked lightly across the table, “I’ll escort you back to your room after we eat. I think you’re going to need another bodyguard besides my little brother.”

“Weller…” Wolfram used the name as a warning, polishing up his silver spork.

“Hmmm…” the second son thought aloud as he picked up his goblet. “Maybe, I should ask Yozak to come, too. We might need _two_ bodyguards…one for our king and one for our new sage.”

“You’re a _sage_ , too?” Greta said, turning to her brand new uncle.

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“We’re so lucky!” she told her fathers. “Aren’t we?”

Green eyes turned to Yuuri with more than a spark of anger burning in them. “I’d say ‘lucky’ doesn’t quite describe it.”

~***~

“So, Captain, what do you think?” Yozak put the Two of Dragons card down on the table and took a face down card. He pretended to study it, but was really just admiring the view across the table.

Conrad’s eyes flicked up from his fanned cards for a second and he smirked slightly. He wasn’t fooled—never was and never would be. They knew each other far too well. “Hmmm…” The second son put down the Four of White Tigers and took a card from the pile. “He’s definitely hiding something.”

This was their usual Friday night “meeting” in Conrad’s quarters—time they set aside each week just to be with each other with the exception of when duty called for whatever reason. Tonight, it was cards and Yozak was particularly lucky with this deck.

Another card was placed down. Another card was picked up.

“You got that impression, too?” A sexy laugh followed it. “Then again, perhaps, we’ve become paranoid in our old age,” Yozak gave a sardonic smile, “but I figure he’s been a bit too vague on certain points. It’s odd to see such a cool demeanour on someone who looks identical to your bratty little brother.” On the other hand, he does seem to have a bit more ‘spirit’ than Murata or is, outwardly at least, sometimes he’s a little more... Shall I call it ‘outgoing,’ or ‘coquettish,’ ? Enticing?’ Not to mention fiery...” The spy shifted the cards in his hand, eyeing them for real this time. “But I’m not sure if he’s too much of a threat. My intuition tells me he’s not bad.” 

“I don’t think so, either, but it’s better to be safe. Please keep an eye on him, Yozak.”

“Safe?” There was a certain way that Yozak practically purred the word. “Why? Did you happen to see something that I didn’t?” That juicy little tidbit would be good to know.

An almost stern glance up this time and an even “please” which meant there was no room for debate on that request.

Yozak gave a placating smile to that. “Okay, okay… I’m on to it.”

“Thank you.”

“And, speaking of ‘on to it’,” Yozak said, “I think I should tell you… ‘Double Bone Ace’…I’ve hit 31 points.” He put the cards on the table and made an arc with them in a single swipe.

Conrad raised an eyebrow at that. “You won surprisingly quickly. Next time, we’ll play Maw so that I have an even chance of winning.”

Of course, Conrad never really cared whether he won or lost. A hand gripped his wrist kindly and he was helped out of the high back chair. “To lose is to win,” the spy said in a cheeky tone, taking the bottle neck of some champagne and two glasses in a single movement. He showed Conrad the way, nudging the door open with his shoulder. “Hmmm…now, if I remember correctly…this is the way to your room… _my captain_?”

“You’re inviting me into my own bedchamber?” Conrad asked coyly and with his head tilted to one side as though he didn’t know.

Yozak brought him in, lightly pushed him down onto the bed and sat next to him—giving the empty glasses over while working on the stubborn cork with his thumbs. “I thought this would be fun. It’s been ages…you know?”

A twist. Another twist.

There was the unmistakable sound of a cork popping and it flew off somewhere.

“Well, at least, we’re having a little bit of fun,” Conrad agreed almost wistfully as the golden drink was poured into the first glass. “It has been really tense around here lately.”

The smile left Yozak’s eyes somewhat. “Translation: My little brother has been absolutely miserable and there’s nothing I can do about it.” He filled the second glass and took it.

“Not funny,” Conrad sighed and sipped his drink, distracted.

“Not meant to be,” Yozak came back with a shrug and a comforting arm around his shoulder. He seemed to need it right now, for Conrad had a habit of concealing his feelings behind that usual smile of his. “Look at it this way… You’re in an impossible place, aren’t you? Caught between your godson, who just happens to be king, and your brother…both looking roughly the same age and both being, in their own ways, a little naïve about the world.”

Conrad looked into his glass pensively this time. “Actually, Wolfram isn’t as simple-minded as you might think. True, he has his moments when I can see that little boy in him...throwing tantrums and wanting things to go his own way. But he also has moments when I can see his innocence being stripped away bit by bit from disappointment and...”

“And?”

“Despair.”

“I know he’s unhappy... In fact, just about everyone does,” Yozak said, taking a taste of his own drink and then giving Conrad’s shoulders a squeeze. “He’s angry and everything, but it’s not like it is the first time he’s felt that way…especially where the kiddo is concerned.”

Conrad met his eyes. “It’s different this time. How would you feel if you could see a copy of yourself? Almost a mirror image… Someone who could walk and talk just like you? Someone who seemingly did the same things…but got better results? A better version of yourself?” He swirled his drink around slowly and looked into it again with the bubbles rising to the top. The froth was gone now. “How do you compete with that?”

A small smile in Conrad’s direction. “Love isn’t a competition.”

A sad look. “But what if…your whole life…you thought it was? The things you had to do and say just to get attention…? But, instead, all you got were trinkets and horses and fine clothes? And you accepted them even if, deep down, you didn’t really want them.”

Yozak wagged a finger at him. “Stop sounding guilty. And, by the way, you’re thinking too much,” he told him and leaned his head on Conrad’s shoulder. Still, the spy couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for himself. Obviously, he wasn’t going to get lucky tonight. Too bad, too, because he had just the thing he wanted Conrad to wear—and a nice little leather number it was.

“Ah…sorry for pushing my problems on you,” he told him sincerely, making Yozak come back from his naughty daydreams.

“No, it’s fine.” He gave a comforting embrace that Conrad seemed to appreciate, holding him in return. “A long time ago, we decided to tell each other anything that was bothering us.” He ran his fingers up and down Conrad’s back in a way he always liked. “As one…forever together… Remember?”

A soft laugh. “Yes.”

Yozak closed his sky blue eyes and savored the moment. “Your little brother hasn’t had a taste of the kind of happiness that we have…even if we keep it discrete,” Yozak reminded him. Raising up Conrad’s chin with a single finger, he went on, “I understand that kind of longing, though. And, even now, I’m still happy that you woke up and suddenly realized how I felt about you.” He wiggled an eyebrow at Conrad. “So, for your sake, I’ll keep an eye on Little Lord Brat for you.” He rubbed locks against Conrad’s in an affectionate way. “Will that be okay?”

A truly relieved smile came to Conrad’s face. “Yes.”

“Then, I’m glad.”

“Well, I’m not. Not entirely.”

“Eh?” A serious look. “Why?”

“You haven’t even kissed me, yet.” 

A full grin and a salute. “Of course, my captain, of course... I always follow your commands.”

~***~

To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

~***~

Shadowed by Conrad, Yuuri sought out Sage Wolfram after breakfast. Not surprisingly, the guards pointed him in the direction of the library.

Wolfram’s head was buried in a book and he had his own bodyguard. Yozak was lurking in a corner. Though, his brand of lurking somehow seemed less sinister than Conrad’s could be.

“Morning, I didn’t see you at breakfast,” Yuuri said lightly.

“Morning,” Sage Wolfram gave him a tight smile. He seemed tired. “I had one of the maids bring me some food earlier. I wanted to start research early.” Wolfram closed the book with a sigh. “I thought there were some clues in this codex, but the version is slightly different than mine. Not surprising considering sliding through dimensions is rare here.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some information. Murata is coming over later and, between the two of you, you’ll come up with something. And Günter knows pretty much everything.”

The sage nodded. “Seems like your Günter is not much different.”

“So, is everyone the same in your world?”

“Most people,” he said and gestured Yuuri to sit. “You’re pretty much the same.”

“Other than I’m a guy here,” Yuuri added quickly. That was a very important difference.

“Of course,” Sage Wolfram said mildly but there was amusement in his eyes. Yozak, my brot... um- Lord von Voltaire, Lord Weller, and Greta are all the same.”

“Still as devilishly good looking,” Yozak added from the corner. Unlike Conrad, he wasn’t pretending to ignore their conversation. 

The blond gave Yozak a very un-Wolfram like smirk with fluttering eyelashes, one that absolutely Yuuri knew his “Wolf” would never give Yozak and said cheerfully in a sing-song voice, “I doubt there is a dimension where you aren’t.”

Yozak lowered his head in agreement with a little smile, crossed his arms, and leaned against the wall, more than satisfied by the answer.

Yuuri cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“So...Wolf, my Wolf... Is he, is he around? I mean, I know he’s not _you_ but he must be around somewhere. Right?” Wolf’s personality would be pretty unmistakable no matter who he was born as. There was just something so “Wolf” about Wolfram. There was nobody else like him.

Sage Wolfram’s eyes went blank, a little bit like Murata’s when he’d asked him some questions about his past lives or anything about Shinou. His Wolf would never look like that; it was creepy.

“I don’t think I have encountered him. Of course, he’d be somewhat changed, being raised in different circumstances.”

“Oh...right. Of course.”

Wolfram looked down and opened up another book. “Shin Makoku is a big kingdom, but it’s hardly the entire world. It’s likely I’ll never meet him.”

There was something strained about the way Wolfram said this. Of course, bringing up his situation would make him unhappy, being so far from home. 

“Well, that’s a shame,”Yuuri said quickly moving things along. “Wolf...is, well, he’s pretty amazing when you get to know him.”

“I can see. You must really love him.”

Yuuri felt his face warm up and he scratched the back of his head, keenly aware that Conrad and Yozak were right there and not quite sure what to say. “Well, you know...” He trailed off.

~***~

It was time to check in. Murata opened the door, scanning the large, red carpeted room with the towering shelves of thoughtfully placed books, maps, government tax records, and what appeared to be recently penned military journals in the von Voltaire colors.

Casually, Murata wandered around the Royal Library, hands in his pockets, and unexpectedly came across Yozak wearing an amused smile on his face. The spy, leaning nonchalantly against the wooden door frame along the farthest wall, said nothing. He simply pointed inside and then folded his beefy arms against his chest.

“Enjoying yourself today, Yozak?” he asked with a slight smile.

“Maybe,” floated to him as he passed.

Typical Yozak.

Murata rubbed his hands together in anticipation, trying to gear himself up for the task. “Ah, the archives.” He was never a huge fan of spending great periods of time in the place. It was windowless, had patches of mildew, and if “old people” was an odor, it would be that as well. Then again, he had to remind himself that he, too, was _old_ in a fashion. And, frankly, that thought was disheartening. For the most part, everyone around him seemed so young in comparison. Sometimes, it was hard not to see himself as forsaken.

Then again, maybe he was.

Sage Spitzweg looked up from his yellowing, ragged-edged tome. The light from the candle at the center of the table brightened up his face—making him angelic. “Lurking in doorways, Murata?” His mischievous eyes flickered to an empty chair next to him. “Why not take a seat beside me? Pretend that you like me.” There was a very sexy lilt to the words spoken in a Wolframish voice and Murata could only chuckle lightly at him as he took the offered chair.

A turn of the page and on to the next.

“True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing…Socrates,” Murata mused openly, watching him.

“Granted” was murmured back, “But… Beware of false knowledge; it is more dangerous than ignorance….George Bernard Shaw,” the blond returned with a quirked grin.

This was the typical, scholarly greeting and good natured rivalry of “learned men.” And both of them could easily recognize it.

There was an impressive stack of books, some almost falling apart, on Sage Wolfram’s left and he was busy skimming the page of his current one at a remarkable speed, running his slender finger down the heavily inked lines of text copied by a scribe now long since dead. The jewels on Sage Wolfram’s fingers glimmered briefly with movement and possessed a faint afterglow in the candlelight in an unnatural way when still.

Murata, on Sage Wolfram’s right, leaned over and openly took note of the rings, eyeing them owlishly. “In this life, I’m not a fan of wearing rings. I think a ring reminds me too much of marriage and I’m just too _young_ for that sort of thing just yet.” He lifted his chin so that he could see the gems better. Continuing with the small talk, “Still, your rings are lovely and well crafted…the stones expertly cut….and have a purpose.”

A blond eyebrow arched. “And wedding rings don’t?” He didn’t bother to look up.

“Touché,” Murata agreed with a faint smirk.

A similar smile in return for that and the blond sage paused at his work. “Since I can see that you’re so curious… This clear, emerald cut one is a diamond in a plain white gold setting.” He moved on to the middle finger. “This oval is a garnet. The next two are topaz and onyx.” He flexed his fingers in a wave.

Murata nodded. “Lovely silver and copper leaf patterned band on the onyx.”

Sage Wolfram moved his right hand closer to the candlelight, letting the jewels sparkle. “Thank you. They are enchanted fire stones…as I’m certain you know already.” Then, he leaned in closer to Murata, meeting eyes with him; an alluring closeness. “Fire is the element of change and consumes…passionately. One could almost say it is ‘alive’ in the way it lives, grows, breathes, and dies…” His voice becoming low and seductive.

Murata found the strength to look away. His dark eyes grew serious for a moment as he quietly speculated, “Could strike quite a blow if you hit someone with those fire stones at full power.”

“You would think.” Followed by a knowing chuckle with implications he did not elaborate on.

“And, those two rings on your left hand?” Murata asked.

“This is an opal.”

Murata steepled his fingers, watching. “Under the right circumstances, that ‘four elements’ stone can either absorb energy or boost it. Quite a handy thing if you are going to jump to another dimension.”

They met eyes briefly. “So, Murata, what do you think this is?” 

Ah, a question.

Murata studied the last ring and scratched his chin. “Turquoise…for astral travel and I suspect trans-dimensional travel as well.” He narrowed his eyes. “The inscription of ‘Know thy self’ has meaning. And I can only guess what’s written on the inside of the band.” He looked deeper at the jewel. “This acts as your nexus when you jump dimensions, I think. After all, you’d need a tie to the thing designed to pull yourself back and forth. Call it a ‘cord,’ if you will, linking between where you were and where you want to be. Just ripping a hole between dimensions wouldn’t be stable enough.” He scratched his cheek in thought briefly. “But this jewel needs something to activate it…some kind of power source or charge or rare crystal.” Murata looked up, reading Sage Spitzweg’s face. “No, not just that stone. All of your rings need to be charged and harmonized for this to work.”

A knowing smile as an answer. “You are a very intriguing person, Murata Ken.” He spun the turquoise ring around on his finger idly.

Murata smiled back thinly. “As are you.”

“So, speaking of trans-dimensional travel and leaping back home, since you’ve brought it up, have you made any progress in your research…beyond your theories, I mean? Have you learned anything?”

An _interesting_ way of phrasing it. 

Murata put an elbow on the table and put his cheek in his palm. “There isn’t much to go on so far…unless you care to fill me in more?”

The blond went back to his book and Murata continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye this time.

The room grew quiet and a page turned, fanning dust.

“Let’s play ‘What if?’” Murata asked.

A slowly spoken “ _Okay_ …” He glanced up from the page with his finger pointing to the beginning of a new paragraph. Yes, he was a little bit interested in this new game.

“What if we _cannot_ power up your rings?”

A direct question, not the intellectual gymnastics he was expecting.

“Rings are just a convenient method of keeping up with the jewels and, as for recharging them to the proper strengths and frequencies…” His voice trailed off. He seemed to be debating within himself on the best way to continue explaining things.

Murata leaned his cheek heavier into his palm, brainstorming aloud. “It’s more than jewelry. I suspect your stones are either out of power or are so low that they’re practically useless…whether jumping to a new dimension or defending against the assassin, you’re at a total loss. This means your choices are limited to either charging the gems up...with, most likely, a powerful crystal...or finding replacements soon.” He swiveled his body in the chair to face him fully. “I think ‘What to do?’ would be a good question at this point.”

There seemed to be an implication with this—heavy and looming--as though this evidence had other facets to it.

A soft laugh. “What should I do? There are no easy answers, are there? Considering how things stand and the way you phrase it…. This reminds me of the time Shinou, in all his glory, first appeared on his magnificent steed and I, with book in hand, deliberated whether or not he was a true hero…and whether or not following such a person would be prudent.”

A nod. “I recall that, too.”

“Decisions, decisions… Frustrating, no? Understanding that all actions have consequences...”

His dark eyes narrowed somewhat. “Yes… But, this situation is different. Wouldn’t you agree? It’s not a matter of whether or not to act.” His tone had become more matter-of-fact, more businesslike. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be misdirected through nostalgia. Misdirection was a tactic he often used when not wanting to answer a direct question. And he would never allow that simple strategy to be used against himself.

“I’m glad you understand. Then again, I do, too, Murata.” A hand with slender fingers reached out and touched Murata’s, bringing his palm away from his face very slowly. The blond sage slipped his jeweled hand into Murata’s—feeling the warm touch of skin against skin. Soft and strong, a comfort. “You hide it well, but I can sense the strain on you. Everyone in this reality expects you to have all the answers and to be infallible.” He neared Murata’s face, focusing on his lips briefly and then withdrawing. “We’ll keep working…keep trying…and, should the worst happen, whatever the Fates choose to happen, I will not hate you.”

He asked quietly, earnestly, “What are you implying?”

“I simply state the truth.”

Murata forgot himself for a moment, lost in eyes that were his and not his. He blinked and returned to himself. “You’re right. We’ll find the answers somehow…stop an assassin and send you home.” Politely, he took his hand back. “In the meantime, we’ll keep researching the ancient texts and you have my aid.”

A sad smile this time seemed to be the reply.

Seeing this, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “You doubt me?”

“Home again?”

“No, seriously. We can’t rule out that possibility of sending you back and won’t. It’s what you want. It’s what we all want for you…especially on Shibuya’s part.”

“But Yuuri Heika’s safety comes first,” Sage Spitzweg reminded him while glancing around the room briefly, then back to his book.

“Agreed, Shibuya is our priority and it’s good to have all the facts necessary. I’m not debating you on that.”

Murata looked at the stack of dusty books again. There had to be a quicker way about this. “You know, in addition to these, we could also consult Shinou back at the temple. Maybe, there’s some aspect about our situation that he could help with.”

Sage Wolfram’s profile immediately changed to something difficult to decipher at the mention of Shinou’s name. “To see him again? I think I’ll leave that up to you,” he told him with his head bowed slightly, eyes in shadow. “Shinou was always such a selfish king. Dealing with him…getting swift and direct answers…could be such a trial. I wouldn’t bother calling him out on my behalf.” The words, to Murata’s ears, reflected the opinions of The Original Sage but with a pained thread to them. Maybe, he was remembering again the sorrowful way they’d parted. An intimate, private aching that belonged to no one but him. Maybe, he was thinking about other ways that Shinou, in his world, had swayed the hearts of the people at the expense of the one dearest to him—his sage.

Intimacy’s double edge always cut both ways.

Such was the life of a sage.

“Going back to the subject of my part of the research,” Murata said, knowing that their conversation had taken this kind of direct turn, “I haven’t found much on our topics, just like you, except…there was a single record of a trans-dimensional jump here…to this world…” He’d lay his cards on the table now. There wasn’t much need to hold back if this was all he’d tell him. “And something called… _corrosion_.”

Sage Wolfram now gave him a serious look, not unlike the ones Wolfram often gave his older brothers when he felt they had gone a step too far. “I think we should focus on the assassin, not me for the moment.”

Murata leaned in confidentially, seriously. “I think we _should_ right now.”

The blond tightened his jaw.

Murata tried again. “Since entering this room, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me…because it’s just the two of us… But considering that you haven’t…”

“Stop,” was hissed.

“We both know…your time is short.”

A shake of the head “no” and Sage Spitzweg went back to his book, distracted though he was now. “You acted before like you knew very little.” Sage Wolfram glanced up coldly and back again. “But, you’re ‘me’ in a sense. So, I don’t know why I’m surprised.” He redoubled his efforts to concentrate on his book once more but said, “Still, truth be told, when I leaped here, I knew that it was a ‘no win scenario’ for me and, as we’ve discussed, the assassin is the more urgent matter.”

This wasn’t working. Murata touched his shoulder lightly, drawing his full attention. “Ordinarily, I would give an opinion and stop but…”

“We’re wasting time…”

Murata leaned his head to the side, trying to catch his eye. “Time is something you don’t have the luxury of wasting. I’m glad you see that,” he ended sardonically. “And you’re no good to us if you’re dead.”

“Enough,” was spoken lowly.

“Do you want to know how long the last trans-dimensional jumper lived in this world? Do you? What happened to that person’s mind and body? It took place over nine hundred years ago, but the records are very clear.”

The blond let out a sigh. He didn’t want to argue anymore—especially with him. “Please drop this.” Sage Wolfram put a hand on top of Murata’s, trying to give reassurance even while he removed the hand from his shoulder. “Let’s just stay focused on who is really important…Yuuri Heika. If the assassin kills him, the events in this world will take a drastic turn in a new direction…making Shin Makoku weaker than it has ever been.” Sage Spitzweg closed the book he’d been reading and placed it near the stack of others. “Now, the upcoming Fertility Ball is a major security risk and, if it were up to me, I would cancel it. But, that isn’t possible as Shinou made it part of the Original Charter and a cancellation would put the often superstitious noble houses in an uproar. So, we just have to go along with it and protect Yuuri Heika as much as possible.”

“I know that,” Murata told him. These were things they’d discussed before in bits and pieces. Going over them again didn’t help or, at least, didn’t feel like anything new was being added.

“Yes, we know. We both do,” he returned in a kinder voice, “but I can see you’re still concerned…thinking about my sake and trying to hide it behind that mask. I suspect you have this habit, not unlike mine, of internalizing everything. And, in a way, to save me would be not unlike saving yourself…that instinct to survive in the last flickering moments of life. How many times have we been through that? It’s an experience that no one else can understand…words cannot convey…” 

Sensing the need, the blond leaned closer to Murata, gently pressed his brow against his, and carded fingers through soft, black hair. Murata closed his eyes briefly to the touch. It had been ages since someone had done that to him and he was always weak to it. Of course, his counterpart would know that he would respond to that kind of touch.

Sage Spitzweg whispered, “Don’t mourn me before I’m already gone.”

“Don’t make me your pallbearer.”

“I’m…sorry.”

A polite cough in the background. “Care to take a break?” Yozak asked from the doorway.

The two of them sat back and turned, surprised.

“The kiddo and the selfish loafer….who _always_ get along so _well_ …are having a cookie break with Greta in the garden. They’d like you to join them.”

Sage Wolfram stood from his chair and stretched like a cat, going back to his usual self in an instant. “Yes, I think that’s a splendid idea. Don’t you? Besides, I did sense some tension between those two earlier and I’m sure that our little Greta would like to have a happy tea party without the stress.”

Murata agreed, getting up. He said with a placid expression, “I’m sure there was some tension in the air. There always is.”

~***~

Murata and the blond sage exited a heavy, wooden side door held open by Yozak and followed a most agreeable little moss-covered stepping stone path which meandered toward a grassy area under an apple tree. It was a favorite spot of the little princess. Murata suspected that she liked to have her “cookie breaks” with some distance from the castle, giving her the chance to have her fathers all to herself.

Today, it seemed, she wanted her “Uncle Wolfram” as well as Murata and Yozak, too.

The transition from the dark archives to the bright sunlight was a bit sudden and Murata shielded his eyes briefly until they could adjust. Then, he glanced up with a squint as he walked along. He was enjoying the sun. Maybe, this break that the princess wanted would afford him one as well. Life had been quiet lately, which was nice, but now there was this. And a selfish, and all too human, part of himself wanted to go back to the way it was not too long ago when he wasn’t even troubled by any thoughts or any intrusive memories. After all, he had brief moments at the temple when he could “just be.” And those were so pleasant.

Murata glanced out of the corner of his eye. His sagely companion, taking handsome strides in his black regalia, had smoothed out his features into something that was akin to contentment.

Faux contentment.

That, alone, should have been a sign that things were going to go to hell in a handbasket fairly soon. Murata knew him as he knew himself.

 _False Serenity_ he thought as his glasses flashed brightly. _Do you want people to not worry about you? Appear as normal as possible. Become an expert in masking your emotions. Ask questions, but give answers only when necessary. Confide in no one. Blend into the background_. But, he knew, there was always a problem: the strategy could only work for so long. There was always a blunder somewhere-- and the devil was always in the details.

 _This corrosion isn’t a small “detail,”_ Murata thought to himself. _And it’s as though he’s asking to choose a lesser evil along the way. But a lesser evil is still…evil._

The blond smirked slightly. “Chin up…and smile a little, Murata.”

Casually, fingers brushed-up against his. A brief squeeze of his hand.

“After all, our dark sage is so beautiful when he smiles.”

Murata pruned his lips a little. “Stop it. I don’t think you’ve really seen me smile.” He adjusted his glasses with a finger. “And, not only that, but you’re starting to sound like Shinou.”

“A criticism?” followed by a light chuckle.

“You’re just trying to distract me.”

A noncommittal “hmmm” followed by “I thought the whole reason why we’re out here is for a pleasant but short distraction.” He gestured to the peaceful scene surrounding them. “So, let’s be good guests and play our part.”

Murata gave a short nod, put his hands in his pockets, and did his best to come across as an affable companion. That was the least he could do.

Keep up appearances.

The three of them approached the little group positioned around a red and white checkerboard blanket. Greta was busy, a little further off to the left, chasing yellow butterflies—her dress tossing about in the light breeze. She could have easily been mistaken for a yellow butterfly herself, a daffodil pattern on her dress.

Murata quoted:  
I wandered lonely as a cloud  
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,  
When all at once I saw a crowd,  
A host of golden daffodils…

Sage Spitzweg smiled to himself. “Yes, I’ve always been a fan of Wordsworth, too. And, oddly, that same poem was going through my mind at the same moment.” He cocked his head to the side and glanced at Murata. “Then, it should be no trouble for you to do as I suggested.” He spoke vaguely, thinking Yozak may be listening in.

“Which was it? Cheer up or smile a little?”

“Your choice…” There was warmth in his voice.

“You don’t let go of things easily, do you?”

“I suspect not. Then again, you are the same way.”

He nodded. “I suppose I am.”

Wolfram, Yuuri, and Conrad turned to watch their approach and, from behind, Yozak called out a “Sorry, we’re late” followed-up by a large, friendly wave. 

The blond gave an impish half turn as he walked so that he could see Yozak’s antics a bit better. Entertainment was always a good thing to watch.

Another distraction.

Despite his efforts, and he did try, Murata had a sinking feeling that things were going to get very bad indeed. How could they not…especially with his counterpart as his cheering squad?

Their group took off their shoes and knelt down on the checkerboard cloth while Greta put forth a large plate of cookies—all sizes and shapes. She pointed and named each one: “And that one is Almond Brownie… Then, there’s Butter Mint, Apple Spice, and Lemon Bars…” The little princess pointed to a grouping of cookies on the right edge of the plate—gingerbread men with yellow frosting hair and a blue uniform. “Oh, and Wolfram Cookies!” Those are my favorite!”

Yozak took one near the side which had no frosting at all on it, only a little sugar. “I think I’ll take this one…where he’s naked.” He flashed the treat to the group.

“What?!” Wolfram steamed.

“Just kidding,” the spy joked and bit the head off. “Though, I must say that our ‘selfish loafer’ is quite tasty.”

Wolfram turned tomato red.

“Well, I’d offer you a taste,” he went on in a sexy voice, “but I think that would be…unbecoming…”

“Yuuri,” Wolfram growled, “I swear I am going to…”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” the double black said, hands out forward in a pacifying gesture.

“Yuuri? Can I go over there and chase more butterflies?” Greta asked sweetly. After getting a “yes,” she toed-on her shoes, grabbed her butterfly net (which had been lying against the tree), and went back to her hunt. 

She was all grins. This was the best!

Yozak chewed a little more on the cookie’s “arm” and asked, “So, tell us more, if you can, about this assassin, Sage von Spitzweg … Maybe, you’ve remembered something that you forgot to tell us before…?”

Murata’s eyes glinted slightly at the thought of more information. 

“It’s as I’ve told you…and these lemon cookies are quite yummy, might I add…” He took another delicate bite. “I followed an assassin to your world. It’s the same person who had threatened my queen...”

“I have to admit,” Murata said to their group, “I’m still intrigued by the notion…the possibility...of crossing into other dimensions. Of course, up until now, the idea of dimension ‘hopping’ had been a purely academic concept. But, now, I have practical proof sitting right by my side.”

Then, a thought struck him.

“Have you travelled to other alternate worlds often?” Murata asked curiously.

“Not directly. Yozak and Conrad…. _my_ Yozak and Conrad have,” Sage Wolfram added. “The mazoku in our world have travelled for many centuries, for trade and research. Our ethics only allow us to trade with worlds with similar trans-dimensional means. From the recent reports I’ve read, there are numerous deviations. You know, there is one world where Conrad is Prince Consort…”

Sage Wolfram gave Conrad a teasing grin. Conrad, in turn, shifted his folded legs awkwardly, mortified. It was quite an amusing scenario and he could see that the other sage thought so, too. They shared a look, and then Sage Wolfram continued with relish.

“Another one where Prince Wolfram here is half-human. With brown hair the same shade as Conrad’s.”

Wolfram looked even more unhappy, if that were possible.

“Yet, my favorite so far is the one where King Yuuri Shibuya married _both_ Prince Wolfram and the Great Sage. Can you imagine?” Sage Wolfram concluded in fake salacious tone.

“How is that poss-?” Yuuri started to ask.

“Nobody has done that in over a thousand years,” Wolfram interrupted forcefully, fists doubled up at his sides. “It’s a barbaric older custom that we do not practice here anymore.” And he gave Yuuri a fierce look as if Yuuri would dare contradict him and turned his death glare on Murata.

Lord von Spitzweg coughed, the noise suspiciously sounding like aborted laugh.

“Absolutely barbaric,” Murata confirmed in a placating tone, though he was sure Shibuya wasn’t impressed and could see right through him, but he had to go through the motions. He put on his most bland expression. “What a strange notion.” But, on the inside, Murata was now struggling with a laugh.

And, his blond counterpart was right. He needed one—a smile or even a laugh--especially to get through this trouble ahead.

~***~

Wolfram closed the door, wanting to make sure that their conversation was not overheard. The maids were everywhere at this time of day and their gossip could spread like wildfire. And the guards were no better.

"What would you like to talk about, Wolfram?" Sage Spitzweg asked, smiling serenely. But Wolfram wasn't fooled. He knew his own expressions well and he could see more than curiosity behind the question as he approached. And, then, stretched out a hand to grab the smug sage's gold embroidered collar and...

A half step back.

Wolfram cocked his head to the side, seeing it. Was he nervous? Afraid of him?

_Why?_

"It...umm...may not be the wisest thing. Touching me, I mean." There was a smug smile there that Wolfram didn't like.

“Don't tell me what to do!” A blond eyebrow raised and Wolfram came closer. "Or you'll do...what?"

A short laugh. "I could knock your socks off…” 

Wolfram narrowed his eyes at the bold words. "Oh really? Is that some sort of challenge?" he demanded to know as he grabbed Sage Spitzweg’'s left wrist.

And then a shock of electricity passed between them and the last thing he saw was the sudden fear in the sage’s eyes ....

~***~

Wolfram groaned as consciousness returned to him. His head and neck were sore and his body throbbed uncomfortably. There was a strange ringing sensation coming from somewhere, too.

“Yes, it’s as unpleasant as I’ve heard,” his counterpart breathed, voice twisted with distaste.

Wolfram opened his eyes reluctantly, blinking against the light. The blond Sage was sitting on the floor nearby, back propped up against the wall. The sage looked at his left hand and something akin to fear flickered through his eyes as he said to himself, “This hasn’t helped things at all.” He then added in a mutter, “Can’t be helped.” 

“What was that?” Wolfram asked breathlessly. He tried to get up and failed. The room kept moving, spinning. He clamped his eyes shut willing the dizzy feeling to disappear.

“I’ll help you up.”

Wolfram opened his eyes and looked at the man balefully. Shakily, Spitzweg was using the wall to keep himself upright and truly looked no better than himself. As if he was going to touch the man ever again... “I don’t _think_ so.”

This time Wolfram managed to get onto his knees without collapsing, but it was a close one.

“It won’t happen again. The energy was discharged on first contact. There is nothing more.”

Wolfram eyed the sage’s hand warily.

Spitzweg sighed. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought it would cause more pain. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience. It’s going to be at least half an hour before we’re well enough to move. I’d much rather spend it on the window seat, but if you want to lie on the floor...” The sage left the suggestion hanging but put his hand out again with an edge of impatience.

With a scowl, Wolfram allowed Spitzweg to help him up, the smooth bands of the sage’s bright rings digging into his hands. He tensed at first contact, but the sage was right. Nothing happened. Spitzweg half-staggered them to the window seat.

“So are you going to tell me what that was about now?” 

“I don’t really know why it happened. It’s an unexplained phenomenon in dimensional travel. When people have physical contact with their counterpart, it creates a powerful discharge. You saw the effects.”

Wolfram rubbed his eyes. “Saw it? ‘Felt it’ more like. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“I tried,”Spitzweg said flatly, though there was a current of irony in his words.

Wolfram didn’t think that was entirely true. The man had riled him up, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. Though, what Sage Spitzweg said made him think. “You said this happens when a person touches their counterpart?”

“Yes,” Spitzweg replied. “There are many accounts of it in our archives. It even happened to Conrad once on a trip.”

“But we’re not the same. You’re the sage and... I’m not.”

“I guess...,” Spitzweg said thoughtfully. “Apparently, it only counts as far as our physical bodies. In that, we are identical. We have the same parents and family history. Only our souls are different.”

Wolfram frowned slightly at the news. “So, is it common for people to come across their counterparts who have different souls?”

Spitzweg shrugged almost indifferently. “I don’t know.” Which, as far as Wolfram was concerned, was complete claptrap. He knew the sage would have paid attention to those details, even if he was a third as smart as their own sage--especially since trans-dimensional travel was common in their world.

“Uh.... _right._ ” Wolfram’s words sounded cynical even to his own ears.

“So, why did you choose ‘Bielefeld’,” Spitzweg asked lightly, changing the subject.

“Huh?”

“Your name? When you came of age, why did you decide on ‘Bielefeld’?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking that of you?” Wolfram asked. “We spent more time at the Bielefeld estate than with Mother’s family.”

“Ah, not in my case.” The sage nodded his head and clapped his hands now that the mystery was solved. “So, that explains it. I’ve never been close to Uncle Waltorana. He distanced himself from me when I was ordained as sage, not that we were close anyway. Mother didn’t get along with him, so I spent my childhood at the Spitzweg estate with Uncle Stoffel or here with Mother.”

Wolfram frowned. He could think of nothing worse than spending time with Stoffel. The man was an oaf. “So, Father died in your world, too? Do you remember him?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

Sage Spitzweg looked apologetic and gave him a short smile. “I remember bits and pieces, not much. He died when I was five. You?”

Wolfram felt an old, faint sadness. Uncle Waltorana said little about his father, and his mother’s prattle was close to useless. He would have liked to have known more, other than that his father was gorgeous, young, and a great lover.

“The same. Then, they don’t have a prophecy about the sage being a double black in your world?”

Spitzweg clasped his hands together, the jewels that bedecked his fingers glimmering in the sun, and with a wince stretched them before studying his left hand carefully. He shook his head and turned his attention back to Wolfram.

“They do. It took a long time for me to be recognised by the nobles for that reason. In the end, Shinou had to be… _persuasive._ ” Sage Wolfram lowered his voice with the last word.

Wolfram shivered. He didn’t want to know what that meant, though he could easily guess. 

“Why did he put your soul in that body then, when it meant going against the prophecy?” 

Physically, they were as far from double black as could be.

Spitzweg spread his hands and gave him a grim smile. “That’s something I’d love to ask him. Regrettably or not.” Sage Spitzweg gave a cynical laugh that was so much like Murata’s it was creepy. “That’s not going to happen. Unlike your world, he’s gone or, if he is around, he’s not talking. So, we can only guess. Perhaps, it was arrogance on his part. We are his descendent.”

Wolfram pondered that scenario. It was too depressing for words. Like him, Spitzweg had been used as a pawn by Shinou.

“What do you think happened to Sage Murata in your dimension?”

“Nothing. He’d be a different man. I assume he’s living a normal life on Earth. Yuuki never mentioned anyone of that name. He might be the lucky one. A god’s attention can be a curse.”

Wolfram couldn’t imagine Murata being normal, no matter where he was. The thought of that was _also_ too depressing for words.

It was all depressing. He had accepted with sorrow that his relationship with Yuuri was a failure, could go on with that knowledge, and was determined to serve Yuuri in other ways. But he couldn’t accept the truths that Spitzweg had brought with him. It wasn’t just that Yuuri didn’t love him or want him as a lover; Yuuri didn’t even need him as a friend. Between his brothers and Murata, Yuuri had all the love, friendship, and support he needed.

Wolfram brought nothing to Yuuri’s counsel that the others couldn’t. Brother was a better strategist. He’d never hope to surpass Conrad in swordsmanship and Murata had thousands of years of knowledge to help advise the king. Even his skill in wielding fire was of no use. He may be the strongest fire-user in the kingdom, but with the help of the Maou, Yuuri was far beyond him in skill, far beyond any mazoku who had ever lived, bar Shinou himself.

And as for love, Yuuri thought the world of Conrad. Didn’t he?

He had a weird inkling that he didn’t exist in the other world. But if he did, the Demon King…Queen was doing fine without him. His whole world had fallen around him. How could he accept this? How could anyone in his position? 

“I don’t want us to be enemies, Lord von Bielefeld,” Spitzweg said gently, breaking into his misery. “We may never be friends, but we need to work together to protect what is dear to us.”

“Yuuri is not yours, you know,” he said it tiredly. All his ire was burnt out, but he still had to protest. Habits were hard to break. Besides, this Wolfram was still an outsider. If anyone was going to be by Yuuri’s side, it would be someone from this world. Even feeling as he did, that was one bit of pride he’d cling to.

This Wolfram blinked and gave him a long searching gaze.

“No, he’s not. But neither is Yuuki. We own our own hearts and souls. But sometimes, if we’re fortunate, someone will share theirs with us, and we with them. Your king isn’t Yuuki, Lord von Bielefeld, but I love him, if only because he’s her twin in all that matters, and I’d not want him harmed.”

Wolfram narrowed his eyes.

“Peace my Lord,” Spitzweg voice was kind. “It’s you he loves, and that is as it should be. You have no contest from me.”

Wolfram had to suppress a brittle laugh. Clearly, this sage was a fool, or blinded by idealism. Wolfram hoped he was more sensible in other ways, for Yuuri’s sake.

“I do not wish to quarrel with you, either,” he said as calmly as he could. Wolfram’s pride and ego were reasons why he’d come to confront the sage, but now he had no right to either of them. 

“Good.” Lord von Spitzweg beamed, looking disturbingly like his mother. Wolfram knew he resembled her, but he didn’t realise how much. 

And just like his mother, he had just as poor judgement in love. At least, in this world. 

“You know, as painful as this was,” Spitzweg rubbed his left hand again “it was wise we got it over with. Could you imagine if we’d run into each other while trying to protect the king from attack? It would have been a disaster. There is a purpose to everything, Lord von Bielefeld. Take this as an example. No matter how grim things are, or how hopeless things may seem, there’s always a reason. It’s how I’ve managed to go on for so long.” Sage Wolfram gave him a shrewd look. “Never forget that.”

Wolfram looked away, feeling suddenly exposed and not liking the feeling.

“I’m feeling much better,” Sage Wolfram said brightly, and offered his hand. “If you’re up to it, My Lord, could you please escort me to the library?”

~***~

“You need to speak to him.”

It had been Conrad’s advice for months now, but he had said it again with urgency before bed. Conrad was right…he had to speak to Wolf. There were only two weeks to go before the Fertility Ball. 

But…it wasn’t easy.

When he walked in, Wolf was in the middle of changing, disrobing and putting a pretty pink nightgown on. He averted his eyes.

“You went to the baths?”

Wolf didn’t even answer him. Instead, he sat down in front of his vanity table and brushed his hair. Wolfram was really pissed at him. Normally, he’d be relieved at avoiding him in the baths, but, this time, he felt wretched. 

Wolf brushed his hair carefully; green eyes steady on the task.

Hesitantly, Yuuri sat on the edge of the bed facing him. He thought of that kiss on the field, once again, the feel of Wolf’s hands on his cheeks. So many people watching...he didn’t know how to explain his feelings. He didn’t want to hurt Wolf more than he had.

“There’s something…umm…” Wolf didn’t even acknowledge him. “Wolf, there is something I have to talk to you about.”

With a clunk, Wolfram dropped the brush onto the table and turned to him, crossing his arms.

“It’s about...the ball,” Yuuri continued tentatively.

“The ball?”

“Yes.”

Wolfram’s face fell slightly. “I understand.”

Wolfram got up abruptly and moved to gaze out the window. Perhaps, it was Yuuri’s imagination but Wolf seemed to be shaking.

“You do?” It came out as a relief. “It’s only been this year that I realized, Wolf. I didn’t know what to do.”

They both turned abruptly as the intruder alarm bells started to ring, interrupting the moment .

~***~

Wallace couldn’t wait for his shift to end. Tomorrow, he would be marrying Nadine. Nadine, who he’d played tag with as a child; Nadine, with the long red hair and her smart brain whose words would stab like thorns when he, and the other boys in their village, would tease her. Nadine, who had grown up to be beautiful and wise.

In a lucky quirk of fate, he’d run into her two years ago in the city’s market square. She’d scored a position as a scholar’s assistant in the city.

He would marry her, and he would finally be able to move into the family apartments in the soldier’s quarters down from the castle. It would be small, sure, but it would be theirs. If he worked hard, he’d be able to buy one of those nice houses, the ones near the commons. With the money Nadine earned at the university, it wouldn’t take too long and they, then, could have the family they wanted.

It was a good time to be a soldier. The pay was good, and it was honest work.

The Maou had enforced and kept the peace. Wallace enrolled a few years after the war, too young to know the horrors first hand, but he’d heard enough, even in their remote village to be grateful for that peace. 

His partner in guard duty, Heltzer, would always moan about how boring it was. Heltzer wanted to go out and fight, or at least do patrol near the kingdom’s border instead of their usual bi-annual patrol of Voltaire Province. Personally, he thought Heltzer was an idiot, fun to be around at the tavern on their nights off, good with a sword, but didn’t have the best judgment or was the sharpest dagger on the rack. Wallace doubted he’d be able to rise through the ranks, even with his lord uncle sponsoring him.

Their occasional clash with bands of thieves and the odd ‘ruffian-turn-assassin’ was excitement enough for Wallace. He thought of the village drunk with the wooden leg. Sadly, he was one of many of the war’s veterans. No, he knew better than to want to see that type of combat.

His attention snapped back to the now when he heard the boots down the hall, and Lord von Voltaire came into view. He’d always had respect for his commanding officer. He was tough, and some would say finicky when it came to military discipline, but he was fair and if you put in the effort, he always noticed. He rarely praised his men, but when he did, those words were like the most precious gems and Wallace hoarded them carefully.

“Sir!” He snapped his boots together, and then as an afterthought said the password. “Petunias.”

Lord von Voltaire nodded. “Tulips.” Wallace relaxed. 

“Where is Heltzer, Ensign?”

“Gone to the privy, Sir.” That was the most annoying thing about being given guard duty in the cellar treasury. The journey to the privy took forever when you needed to leak. The Bielefeld squad might have to put up with their commander’s fiery temper but at least their guard duty was restricted to the royal floor with a privy down the hall. Still, that aside, he’d rather be under Voltaire.

Voltaire nodded and then said gruffly. “Be on alert.”

“Yes Sir!” 

Voltaire paused and then said, haltingly. “Good wishes on your wedding tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

Voltaire nodded, straightened his jacket and then strode down the hall to the west underground exit, hand on his pommel.

He doubted this intruder would come down here. Yet another reason not to envy the Bielefeld squad. They got to deal with most of the assassination attempts. They were a good lot, really. Wallace didn’t see the point of taking the castle’s inter-squad rivalry to the extreme some of the other ensigns and even the senior officers did, but they were easy to make fun off, lots of pretty blond boys who looked barely out of their fifties. No wonder there were so many rumours about them and how they served their lord.

A few more minutes went by and he shifted his feet impatiently. The shadows down the corridor were giving him the heebies. He never liked being down here alone. 

Where was Heltzer? Tomorrow, the shifts would be doubled so that nobody was left alone, not that he’d cared about that. He’d be spending the week with his wife and duty rosters would be the last thing on his mind.

 _‘Heltzer...I hope he’s not gone to flirt with Lord von Christ’s assistant again._ He relaxed when he heard the characteristic quickstep and Heltzer came around the corner, jaunty grin on his face. No doubt he had gone for that quickie. 

“Petunias,” he said in impatience. 

Heltzer said nothing, that same irritating grin widening. “Have you forgotten the password again?” Wallace groused.

He opened his mouth to say more, but Heltzer vanished from his sight. The next thing he knew, Heltzer was in front of him, smile becoming wicked and teeth strangely long. 

“Say hello to Shinou for me.”

 _What?_ He registered the pain distantly, and clutched at the hilts of the daggers that had appeared out of his chest. He looked down in puzzlement. His white gloves were red. Just like Nadine’s hair. Why was the room going dark?

_Nadine._

~***~

Lord von Rochford, face scowling in disgust, dropped the letter on the table of the sitting room, and gazed into the fire. It was his cousin who had written with the current Radford’s account of the conduct of the Maou during the fertility ceremony. He turned, and stalked over to the modest liquor cabinet, his best collection was in the manor, not in this somewhat cramped sitting room of the Rochford capital town house. There, he pulled out a stopper and filled a tumbler glass with some good Cimaron whiskey, an acquired taste he gained from war spoils. _Say what you want about the vermin, but they knew how to make a good brew._

Looking at the amber liquid, iridescent reflective from the fire, he briefly thought about calling his manservant to fetch some ice, but mentally dismissed the thought. With one gulp, he downed it straight, relishing the burn down his throat and then filled the tumbler again.

He’d never thought Shin Makoku could see any worse than the stupid whore that Shinou had called to the position just before the war, but at least she knew the value of following good judgement and had good mazoku breeding, both traits that this half-breed mongrel was lacking. 

For the last few years, he’d been trying to make some headway against the Maou as cautiously as possible. For he had a healthy fear of Shinou’s power, if not genuine reverence. He’d worked out that the deity wasn’t as omniscient as the village priestess had taught him as a boy, else he’d have been struck down long ago with his thoughts and Shinou certainly couldn’t be everywhere at once – as long as he didn’t say anything particularly suspicious, he considered himself safe. 

Unfortunately, the circle surrounding the demon king was...a challenge, Voltaire was no fool and seemed to take an obstinate pride in keeping the half-breed safe and had quite an effective intelligence network. Holly was practically in awe of whoever Voltaire had in charge of that operation, and the Great Sage, well...he took another gulp of the smoky liquid, he did have some respect for the man. Thousands of years of wisdom was never to be taken lightly, and unlike his cousin, he did believe the sage was legitimate, human or no– those _eyes_...He shuddered as he remembered the last time he’d met with the young sage – yet another impediment to his plans, a serious one. As wily as Voltaire was, the sage was going to be a tough adversary, with a guardian such as Shinou. He still had no ideas how to proceed against him. He was favouring the option of simply waiting until the Maou died, half-breeds were short lived, so he could focus on his plans against the mazoku houses then.

Stoffel was certainly right. The von Voltaires and von Christs had dug their claws in, and not even Lord von Bielefeld’s nephew seemed to be making headway. Though, if Holly’s reports were accurate, and Rochford had complete faith in her, Bielefeld had lost any control over the blond brat a while back, the Voltaire influence, he supposed. 

Disappointing... The boy was easy on the eyes. After he’d taken in his own nephews after the dreadful death of his younger brother, he’d planned on approaching Waltorana with an offer of marriage. It had been a few generations since both families had been united. But the Voltaire lord ruined that, setting up his youngest brother with the half-breed Maou. It was clearly political since the Maou had shown little interest in his betrothed. He thought again of Radford’s written account of the Fertility Ceremony. Rochford sniffed. He would have thought that Lord von Voltaire would have been more subtle in his scheming. No matter. He was still a traitor to the mazoku race, and he would have loved to see him hang from the capital gates once he prevailed, along with Lady von Christ’s eldest. But he had to be prudent in their removal if he was to win the trust of the half-breed and not anger Shinou. 

Not only that, the Maou was popular and, as much as he’d like to see him swinging alongside the other lords, he knew better than to court the disapproval of the common folk. Better to use him for the good of the kingdom and safe keep the future of his nephews, his heirs. 

Besides, he’d always wanted to be Chancellor, and maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right and bid his time, he’d get that marriage he’d wanted since the mongrel Maou had no interest. He smiled, indulging himself in a rare dream of that scenario and emptied his glass. He shook his head after a moment. It would take the work of decades, and he would need to be patient as much as he’d love it to be otherwise. He should have moved in the moment the half-breed had arrived, but caught up in the grief over his brother’s then recent accident, he’d paid no heed. He’d been a sentimental fool and had lost the chance. 

He was filling up another glass when there was a knock on the door. Rochford frowned. He hated being bothered at this hour. “Come in.”

Expecting his manservant, he was surprised when his intelligence officer, Holly, opened the door. “Sir,” she said, “We have a visitor. I think you might want to talk to him at once.”

He gave her a hard look, wondering why she hadn’t given him a name, but he’d worked with Holly since her father’s death and trusted her judgement and loyalty. “Bring him in.”

And in walked…

“Wolfram von Bielefeld.”

~***~

“It has started,” Conrad told himself as he walked down the hallway. Security was tighter than ever. He was exhausted, and he wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore.

Not that it mattered.

He put a hand to his head briefly, remembering.

After viewing the gory scene before him with his hand slowly tightening into a fist at his side, Gwendal ordered everyone to their rooms except for Yozak, who was watching the Royal Bedroom, and a group of their most trusted guards within the castle were posted at specific intervals along the wing where the double black was sleeping. With the shape shifting abilities of the assassin, Conrad wasn’t sure just how much security the “most trusted” part really counted for in terms of guards. But something, most certainly, had to be done. And with them all practically in visual sight of each other along the well-lit corridor of the Royal Bedroom, the soldiers could spring into action or call out to each other quite easily.

And with Yozak watching over them all from his favorite vantage points, he didn’t need to worry too much about his godson on this night.

_Thank goodness for that._

Now that Conrad reflected on it, Wallace was a good man with his whole life ahead of him. Yes, a good man and popular. _But what a waste._ At the point of his greatest happiness, his up-and-coming marriage to the fair Nadine, he suddenly lost it all. Worse yet, someone would have to tell the family, including the fiancée, and that “someone” would probably be his older brother. It would probably never even occur to his godson to write such a letter or to give monetary compensation for the loss. As chief administrator, such dirty work was always left to Gwendal, who always seemed to take the duty in stride. But Conrad knew better. He could always see through that tough exterior. And this man, in particular, belonged to Gwendal.

And that made it all the worse.

Pushing the door to the Royal Kitchen open, Conrad entered and saw Gwendal making himself tea. He looked up from the teapot and then added a second cup and saucer to the tray.

“Care to join me?”

But he knew the answer.

Conrad lifted his chin to see what was on the tray. Tea and ginger cakes. “Yes, if you don’t mind,” and he followed his brother out the door to the dining table. The room was empty and dim with the exception of the sconces flickering light from the far walls. It had a chilled and melancholy feel to it, which hadn’t changed since they were boys.

Taking a chair by Gwendal’s side, he took the teapot and began to pour for the two of them while Gwendal stared a hole through the wall grimly. The cups had little curls of steam rising up. From the scent alone, he could tell it was chamomile.

“The body has been taken to Gisela for analysis,” Gwendal said, taking in the scent briefly before tasting the hot tea. “From what I could see, he bled to death from his wounds but did not die instantly. The way the body was stabbed and the blood on the floor told me that much.” He was practically grinding his teeth with each word.

A brief nod of understanding. “A bad way to go.”

“Name a good way.”

There were none and Conrad knew that much, too. “Ensign Wallace was well respected, disciplined, and had a good head on his shoulders. Everyone always said so and his little romance was the talk of the castle for months.” He tried not to remember the cloth stretcher taking the covered body away, an arm falling out heavily with the military coat sleeve painted in layers of thick, darkening blood. The once pristine glove was red, too. 

“But the problem now is with a death within the castle itself. Not only will our soldiers and staff be insisting upon answers, directly or indirectly through rumors, but our noble families as well.”

“And the town,” Gwendal added, taking a bite of ginger cake which, obviously, meant nothing to him. Eating was just something to do at the moment. “Not everyone who works here actually lives here. The local populace will hear of it by dawn and will, most likely, be distressed…wondering if there is a madman on the loose.”

“Not to mention, we haven’t found Heltzer yet. So, I think we should make our investigations into both incidents more obvious to calm everyone down,” Conrad suggested, drinking his tea and casting his brother a brief glance to see if he approved. “It is what our Great Sage suggested as a first step should something like this happen.”

“It would only be natural to do so and I think the assassin would expect as much, too.”

A hum of agreement from Conrad and then a quiet “I’m sorry.”

Gwendal turned slightly in his brother’s direction. “I’m sorry for…?”

“Heltzer…gone missing. And, as for Wallace…that bloody scene in the cellar treasury.” His brown eyes grew tired. “There is the kind of bond we share with our men…different from lovers, family, or friends… I know that some part of you, I’m sure, wanted to be there for Wallace…not wanting him to die alone.”

Gwendal straightened up in his seat, shoulders back. “Ensign Wallace was one of my trusted men and a damn fine soldier. We all know the risks. We all know that tomorrow could be the end.” He put his cup down and stared through the wall again, angrier than ever. “But my soldier…my man…deserved a fighting chance. There are honorable ways to fight…seeing the enemy before you and knowing that they are the enemy. But, with this…!” He beat his fist on the table and everything rattled. “I find no honor in a cowardly, scheming approach as the only means!”

Conrad placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I understand.”

“But we knew something like this was bound to happen,” Gwendal went on ruefully. “From here forward, we will have to stay even more alert to the possibility of more deaths.”

Conrad found himself thinking of the Fertility Ball. It was something he was not going to look forward to for an entirely new set of reasons. “And the attack… Does it really give us any answers or insights?” He gave a concerned look. “I keep wondering… With the ball coming up, is this assassin the kind of person who will remain in the shadows, or will striking in public be more of an advantage?” His lips narrowed into a thin line. “I can easily see a sudden attack escalating into a panic among the attending nobles and, as a consequence, Yuuri having no other alternative than to step forward…putting himself in danger.” 

Gwendal thought about it. “Attacking in public would achieve a political end, certainly. Fear has always been an effective tool.” His face grew serious again. “This person would have to be able to place oneself into a strategically viable position. Also, knowing things like accurate disguises, battle strategies, art of war, linguistics, and castle layout would assist greatly.”

“Certainly, we now know ‘wielding weaponry’ isn’t an issue.”

“Yes,” he agreed darkly.

“I think we will certainly need Yozak’s help at the ball,” the second son told him. “He’s skilled in all of these areas we’ve just discussed.”

“Agreed.”

Conrad looked pensively into his cup. It was half full now. “From my research in the Royal Library and the historical diaries, it seems that most assassins who think rationally spend extended periods of time planning their attempts. Apparently, assassinations are rarely impulsive.”

“Unless you have the ability to change your appearance,” Gwendal stated. “Then, an opportunistic killing would be advantageous.”

Conrad sighed to himself. It was strange how they could discuss such unpleasant business with each other so calmly. But, that was their duty as protectors of the castle and all who dwelled within. Yes, they were soldiers and guardians of the peace, but they were people, too, and brothers.

“You have a point there,” Conrad said, “and speaking of ‘change’…and I’m changing the subject here now that I have some time with you… I was wondering if you’ve noticed something about Wolfram.” He hesitated for a moment and went on. “He seems distant and moody, if you get my meaning.”

Gwendal took another bite of his cake absently. “Isn’t he always upset about something and setting the castle on fire? Or shouting at Yuuri Heika?” 

“No, I see it as…’wrong’ somehow.” He huffed a small laugh to himself. “Call it a ‘brother’s instinct’ or something. But I feel that something is off about him. I just can’t seem to pin it down.”

“Well, he will definitely be like the rest of the castle when he hears about Wallace. And in terms of ‘unhappy’ I think Yuuri Heika will be upset about the death, too…not to mention ‘displeased’ about the other measures we will have to put into place to guard his safety.”

Conrad looked away briefly. “You mean the twenty-four hour guards, bodyguard, food tasters against poisons, and a discrete layer of chainmail under his black jacket?” None of that would go over well with the young double black, he knew.

“I was going to begin with the ‘body double’ idea,” Gwendal said flatly, “but, yes.”

Oh, yes. There would be a lot of “unhappiness” going around once the sun came up. And if Conrad had possessed the power to delay it, he would have.

~***~

Wolfram tried to ignore the man that Brother had assigned to him.

Yuuri had once pointed out, a few months after they met, how uncomfortable he felt constantly surrounded by servants and guards. Wolfram had never understood it. To him, the servants whom he came across, much like the guards, were no more obvious to him than the paintings on the walls that he walked by every day. Naturally, unlike paintings, the servants had ears and Wolfram knew better than to wholly forget their existence, but other than that, they were of little meaning to his daily life. 

But today, as Clarence, and he was sure that was the man’s name, practically ran into him as he stopped abruptly outside one of the library’s locked archives, he was starting to understand Yuuri’s feelings.

At least, his own men knew him well enough to give him space. Clarence was all but breathing down his neck. Wolfram bit his tongue and took a deep breath. It would be undignified to lose his temper in front of Brother’s men. Besides, Gwendal’s arrangements made sense all things considered. Wolfram was happier to have the Bielefeld troop keeping guard on Yuuri, along with Conrad and...it seemed at least half the garrison. Yuuri’s safety came first. 

The other Voltaire guard stationed outside the door cleared his throat nervously. “May I have your password, my Lord?”

He had to quickly remember what that was. Brother had them changing it three times a day, a rotating series of words for different houses dependent on the floors they were on. It was complicated, and Wolfram wondered if it was a bit too much. Then again, was there such thing as “too much” when it came to securing the castle against a determined shape-shifting assassin with a taste for ripping men to pieces?

“Katabira blooms.”

The guard nodded and gave his own password. 

Clarence began to follow him into the room. “You can stay here,” he ordered.

“But, my Lord.” Clarence shifted on his feet nervously, looking unhappy at letting Wolfram out of his sight. Wolfram sighed, of course Brother would have given him strict instructions.

“The archive has no windows and, I’m sure,” he gestured to the other guard “ he checked the room before our guest entered. The only way anyone can come in is through this door. So, it’s better you stay here with...” He looked at the other guard.

“Invelbert, my Lord.”

“Invelbert,” Wolfram repeated. He’d doubted he’d remember that name. Fates, some names from Voltaire Province were odd.

“My Lord,” Clarence said, looking resigned.

The room was dim and musty, only brightened by a lamp on the table. True, it was one of Anissina’s ‘Mr Bright’ lanterns, which were brighter than the usual, but not quite up to muster amongst the vaulted ceilings and walls covered with shelves. 

The other sage was up on one of the step-ladders reaching for a book when he entered. 

“Oh good, Lord Bielefeld” without turning, the sage handed him a heavy book. “Could you put this on the desk?”

“How did you know it was me,” he asked dryly as he dropped the book on the desk nearby with a thud. He wondered if one of those tales about the sage’s abilities wasn’t as exaggerated as the thought.

“Your boots are distinctive, as is the way you walk – oh that’s where you’ve been hiding,” the sage added to himself and then pulled out an ancient-looking book. The sage took a step down the ladder and then wavered, stumbled backwards, and fell.

Fortunately, Wolfram was there to catch him, both of them ending up on their knees on the dusty floor, one arm around Spitzweg’s waist.

“Thank you,” Sage Spitzweg said heavily, one hand still holding onto the book. The blond’s other hand was leaning heavily on his shoulder and his face was close to his. “Then, there is your fragrance,” the sage said, in an odd change of subject and closed his eyes. “I’ve always liked the scent of jasmine. As does Yuuki,” he added softly.

Wolfram couldn’t meet the sage’s eyes. It was too disconcerting, like looking at a mirror and the man’s closeness was making him uneasy. 

_He really does have long eyelashes,_ he thought as he chanced a quick look.

“Are you well?”

“Yes, though I’d love it if you could help me up?”

Sage Spitzweg faltered against him as Wolfram helped him to his feet. “I didn’t get much sleep,” the sage said, pulling his hand away before Wolfram could ask about his health again.

“I see.” Wolfram could understand. He didn’t get much sleep either, once Conrad had arrived after midnight to inform them of the attack. “Maybe you should take a nap? Go see Gisela. She has the most awful tasting potions, but they often work.”

“I remember,” the sage replied and then waved his hand in dismissal and sat down at the table. Wolfram frowned. There was something not quite right. Something about the way the sage sat, the way he pulled his hair behind his right ear. Wolfram knew he did that when he was nervous. But the sage wasn’t him. The sage housed a very different soul. 

He was over thinking things.

“So what do I owe this visit?” the blond sage asked, giving him a bright smile before giving him a long once over. Wolfram knew that look, too. He’d been the recipient of it many times and it reminded him uncomfortably of his mother’s predatory look. He hesitated, feeling his face heat up and then he, too, brushed his hair back. 

This sage was just as perverted as theirs in his flirtations. He kept looking at him, his smile turning smug as Wolfram struggled to say something. He let anger take over, welcome compared to embarrassment. Now was not the time for such games. 

“I wanted to check if you were fine,” Wolfram gritted out. Truthfully, there had been more than that. He’d wanted to see if the sage knew more about what was going on after poor Wallace’s death, but all he wanted now was to leave.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Sage Spitzweg said calmly and gestured to the books. “I have plenty to keep me occupied. There is no need to be concerned.”

“Well, then, I’ll leave you be.” He turned and ran straight into the other sage.

“Lord von Bielefeld.” The double black sage said, his eyes looked at him inquiringly.

“Your Eminence, I’m sorry...I didn’t see you. I’m just leaving.” He didn’t give Murata any chance to respond. He simply didn’t feel like it.


	3. Chapter 3

~***~

“So, let me get this straight,” Lord Rochford said in a dry tone, offering a tightly hand-rolled cigarette which was, in turn, politely declined by a wave of the hand. “You say you are ‘Wolfram’ but not a ‘von Bielefeld.”

A thin smirk followed by “correct.”

“Which would make you…?”

The question hung in the air, and the man’s voice still had an obvious thread of disbelief in it.

Green eyes glittered. “A free spirit, not being tied down to that insufferable Waltorana von Bielefeld.” A proud, boyish shrug followed. “The man’s an oaf…and a glutton for compliments of any type.” The smirk hardened in place, and he paced the room a little bit, suddenly finding the warm fire attractive. Then he warmed his palms to the element he so loved, caressing it in silky motions back and forth—staring in a fixed way like a cat.

“Maybe…maybe _not…_ But the face is so much like hers,” Lord Rochford murmured aloud, studying him with approval. In a louder voice, he said, “Then, you’re claiming to be a von Spitzweg. There could be no other explanation.” He stood from his comfortable chair to examine the angelic face with the cold, emerald eyes a little bit closer.

A hand, adorned with gold bracelets touched Wolfram’s collar and sensuously stroked down the center of his chest. Wolfram pretended not to notice the way it was intended. Sometimes, such things were necessary.

“Yes, I am a von Spitzweg as well as the Great Sage of my world.” The smirk widened into a beautiful smile. “Then again, there are many worlds…so many places to leap to…” And in a quiet voice to himself, “to search.” 

He looked deeply into Lord Rochford’s sharp, steel-like eyes—the ones which seemed to be searching for weaknesses or lies.

He liked that very much, too.

_A challenge, I wonder? Do you really want to do that, petty lord?_ Almost coquettishly, he stepped away and told him, “I approached you for a reason, you know.”

Lord Rochford took a long, slow drag and the scent of tobacco grew stronger. “And that would be?” He waved his right hand as he made a placating gesture that seemed like modesty with a touch of flourish, but the blond young man wasn’t fooled in the slightest. The cigarette made a thin trail of scented smoke, drifting off. “Forgive me, but if what you say is true…and I can only go by your sudden change of attire from blue to black and _lack of evidence…_ ” he strutted like a peacock to his chair,“…there seems to be trouble afoot in Shin Makoku…so you say…and you are coming to me, not one of your brothers, for assistance.” He felt like putting his feet up at this entertainment to enjoy it better. “This is all quite extraordinary.”

“My garments?” The blond glanced down at himself briefly. “Black clothes, black heart…hmm?” Wolfram said, slicing a look at him. “I wonder how many lifetimes I’ve had to suffer that perspective? They all blend in, the memories you know…but such is the life of a sage…and sacrifices must be made…” His eyes seemed vacant for a moment, but he brought himself back with “I came to you because, in all of the worlds I have visited, you have always been someone who was strong, powerful, and skilled. You have a way of getting what you want, and you demand only the best. You are willing to move slowly, plan accordingly, and you have a clear understanding about the ways of the world.”

“Really?”

“Money is no issue with you…and you open doors to opportunity.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” he said proudly, “but you could have learned any of that by reputation alone.”

“I understand now.” Wolfram’s smile twitched. “You see me as a fraudulent soothsayer…scrying or casting lots to bring about a particular outcome, your trust.” He chuckled a little, combing his hair with his fingers.

“Possibly,” Lord Rochford agreed loftily, blowing a thin stream of smoke between his lips.

“Then, you want more proof?”

“Such things tend to come in handy,” Lord Rochford agreed, “especially when asking for aid is concerned.”

“Truly,” the blond returned with his head cocked to the side, “I was hoping that you would believe me on the initial try…so that I would not have to mention the two small moles on your thigh…close to your right testicle.”

The next sound was Lord Rochford choking.

“And, might I add, cigarettes are quite bad for you.” He approached, taking the burning object from between his fingers gingerly. “Each one is a nail in your coffin. Trust me, I know.” The cigarette ended up in the fireplace along with the burning embers. “Now, if you need more proof, my dear lord, we can discuss your previous liaisons…in each of the worlds I have visited. And, might I add, you have profited from _above_ and _below…_ ” He gave a well-acted, incredulous shake of the head. “You have much more stamina than I do…consider the House of von Buseck alone…and you know their coat of arms has a rather horny ram on it…”

The pompous man quickly raised a hand. “I believe you! No need to go on.”

Wolfram clasped his hands together, pleased. “Then, we can discuss the very reason why I’ve come seeking your help.” He sat on the velvet-covered arm of Lord Rochford’s chair casually, staring at the fire with an unreadable expression.

“I see an assassin coming.”

Lord Rochford paled. “And you know this for a certainty? How?”

“Such things have happened before in the ‘Shin Makokus’ I have been to. And this individual in particular has an amazing power…the ability to shape-shift.” He bit his lower lip slightly at the thought. “It only lasts for a few minutes but can be extended. It’s painful…like a brute holding you down and tearing you limb from limb…but it can be done.”

“How?”

Wolfram gave him a sincere look. “Magic…dark magic…deep-rooted magic…” He whispered, “Sometimes forbidden things become rediscovered again.”

“If an assassin is coming,” Lord Rochford theorized while his hand rested suddenly on Wolfram’s thigh, “wouldn’t our king be at risk? Especially if this assassin can change his face and shape as well as his clothes?”

A distant, noncommittal hum and Wolfram stood from the chair.

“I may not be from this world, but I care for Yuuri Heika deeply…as much as you do.” He smiled to himself this time. “Maybe, even more so.”

“That would only be natural, being his fiancé.”

“I’m not his fiancé in all worlds,” Wolfram admitted, arms crossed against his chest. This part would be fun.

“Oh really?”

A nod. “In one world, you and I are quite… _close_.”

Lord Rochford’s eyes widened in surprise. “T-The two of us?” It was too much and his face clearly showed it. His mouth practically watered.

“Knowing that, it was only natural that I reach out to you here and now.”

The lord rolled his lips in thought at that. “Yes, yes…it is only natural. Now that you explain it… The two of us would be a logical pair, uniting two very powerful houses and bringing together lands as well as money.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure how things worked in this world when I got here…and your greeting was so cold…” Could he say that line without smiling suddenly?

“So, what can I do to help?” Lord Rochford asked.

Oh, that sounded genuine. The blond smiled inwardly.

Wolfram’s face became beautiful, angelic—tender. Viewing the blond, he could practically feel his own resolve weakening and it was all too obvious, he knew. It had to be.

“Lord Rochford, if you can aid me, we can rescue the fate of the country.” He stood taller, his dark clothing making him seem like a pale, unearthly creature. “You are an intelligent man. Find a way for us both to attend the Fertility Ball…for us both to do what must be done… and your name will go down in history…millions upon millions will know it.” He reached into the folds of his clothing and pulled out a large topaz stone. “I know that it is only a small token, but it is the best contribution I can make at the moment. And, for that, I am truly sorry.” He turned his head away. “It is frightfully embarrassing to be without funds.”

Lord Rochford crossed his legs casually and rolled the heavy topaz in his palm. “Never mind,” he purred. “This is a lovely token of your goodwill and you would not be the first of the noble class to be low on money. I understand your attachment to Yuuri Heika,” he went on a little dryly, mentioning the king’s name, “but I’m sure you can pay me back by other means…since we are so close in those other worlds.”

Wolfram von Spitzweg gave a crooked smile. “Oh, yes. I intend to have you suitably rewarded…that and more.”

~***~

Murata walked down the hallway, hands in his pockets and deep in thought. How to power up Sage Wolfram’s rings still nagged at the back of his mind. It wasn’t enough to put that off. He knew that something had to be done. And then there was the ever-looming threat of the assassin. Waiting for that person to strike—the anticipation—was getting to him, too. It would help to know more, what kind of personality he was dealing with and how long that person was willing to wait in order to act would be good.

Two young women passed him in the hallway. One was carrying a bucket and mop. The other, a pretty little mazoku with bright lavender eyes, practically skipped along with dustpan and broom. Murata, ordinarily, would have greeted the new girl with a smile. Instead, he gently swerved to hug the right side of the hallway, an attempt to put more distance between himself and the new hire. Engrossed in their conversation, talk of the castle’s gardens and the like, they didn’t even take note of Murata’s aversion. Still, he did and that bothered him somewhat. He was changing in order to stay alive, to be there to advise those around him. But, in order to do that, he had to be suspicious of those around him that he didn’t recognize. There was no logic to it, either, since the assassin had the power to be anyone.

“This is really eating at me,” he admitted reluctantly, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

The dark-haired sage stopped abruptly, finding himself standing in front of two large portraits. One was of the Original Sage—dark hair flowing down like a black curtain and eyes sharp, cold, and mysterious. How many times had he been compared to this dead man?

Murata’s eyes turned to Shinou. Ordinarily, he tried to pass this portrait without taking in the features. He had memories of the days that the Original King sat for this. It bored the man to tears. Sitting in place for so long was not really Shinou’s style. And he had, briefly, contemplated the notion of having it left unfinished. It was only thanks to the advisers around him that it was completed at all. Now, this was a national treasure.

He pushed his glasses up his nose with a single finger. His middle one. “Ridiculous ermine collar…red silk robe, always on the verge of being wrinkled…” He sighed to himself. “And you must have really loved Euclidean geometry…always wearing that rhombus-shaped brooch…”

With a…

With a…

A crystal…

Murata backed away from the portrait shaking his head “no”, eyes impossibly wide. “It can’t be,” he breathed.

The door to the chamber holding The Four Boxes burst open and Murata entered, feet stomping. “Shinou?!” he shouted, demanding that the irritating spirit appear before him. “I know you’re in here.” He marched to the center of the room. “Shinou! I know you’re in here. I can feel you.”

“My, my…” a voice whispered behind his ear, just enough to make him shiver. Murata turned to face him.

“You have it,” Murata said, trying to hold his temper in check. “You’ve had it all this time, and it’s such a _big_ one. How could I not have noticed?”

“Well, I have always been well endowed south of my belt buckle,” Shinou agreed with mock modesty.

If it were possible for Murata to roll his eyes more, he was sure they would have fallen out of his sockets. 

“Problem?” the Original King asked, pleasantly.

He gave Shinou a cold look.

“You know… ‘Frigid’ is such an ugly look on you...you really ought to change that, let loose a little. Social _lubrication_ , so to speak.” Shinou gave him a coy smile.

“ _Shinou_.” The low voice was a warning. 

“It’s not like you haven’t got options,” The Original King continued, ignoring his irritation. “And some quality options at that... He’s beautiful isn’t he? Your counterpart?” Shinou said and Murata had to suppress a sigh this time. “What…? Don’t look at me like that. You can’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. Soul mate and all...literally.” 

The Original King flipped his cape back across his shoulder. He was really enjoying this performance--even if he was the only one.

“And,” Shinou continued, “Sage von Spitzweg did bring up an interesting scenario back at the picnic…that of being in a triad relationship between you, von Bielefeld, and the maou.” 

Murata sighed again but openly this time.

“An interesting scenario is all I called it. Nothing more.”

“My life is not for your entertainment.” So much for enduring silently. Shinou was the only one who could get to him like this.

Shinou folded his arms against his chest. “Everything in this world is for my entertainment, like it or not.”

“Go to Hell.”

“I’ve been there…too boring.”

“Fascinating as this is, can we get back on topic?” Murata asked, feeling like a saint for keeping himself in check. “We’re discussing the crystals we need to power up those magic rings Sage Wolfram von Spitzweg owns.”

“Oh, that…” Shinou said loftily. “True enough...instead of needing a hand-full of small crystals...all you would _really_ need is that one.” He walked toward the _Hellfire on Frozen Tundra_ box and sat on it, legs swinging. “Yes, you would need my big one, wouldn’t you?” Then he chuckled to himself. “But, you know, my dear sage, I’m surprised that it took you this long to remember what I wore all of those centuries ago.” His eyes grew warm, and he dropped a little of his silly demeanor a bit. “We’ve been _tied_ together for so long…you and I.”

“Don’t remind me,” Murata sighed and gave him a sidelong glance. “So, where is it? I need to have that crystal now.”

Shinou kicked his feet a little more, lost in thought. 

“Well?” Murata said, not happy with the sudden quiet. 

“At a price…”

“What?”

“My help will come at a price.”

The dark-haired sage found himself losing his temper. He made a fist at his side but managed to calm himself down. He needed to do this right. “I doubt that a spirit, even one as powerful as you are, would want money or riches to replace a crystal.”

“Yes, but the Shrine Maidens may not like the fact that you are taking off with one of their favorite objects.” A small smirk followed the remark and it irritated Murata that he was absolutely right.

“Then, what is your price?”

Shinou kicked his feet again and jumped down from his seated position on the box. “Actually, I ask for two things...two conditions.” He raised his fingers up. “First, I would like you to find a jewel to replace the one you are leaving with today.”

A nod. “That’s not unreasonable.” He gave a shrug and offered, “I’ll find something that will match the blue in your eyes. Would that stroke your ego enough?”

A chuckle. “And there, for a moment, I thought you were trying to be coy with me.” He flipped back his red cape. “Still, I will accept that.”

“And the second condition?” A black eyebrow arched.

Shinou smiled. “When the time comes, I can do anything to you that I want.”

Murata’s jaw dropped a little. “Are you saying…?”

Shinou made a wide gesture, arms open. “My second condition.” Then he approached Murata, a smile playing on his lips. “The question is… ‘How badly do you want that crystal? If you want to make yourself of use…and save that sage who is you and is not you…? Be there for your king and best friend…?”

The questions were there.

“You are being cruel, Shinou.”

He tossed the cape behind his shoulder again, but the material slipped off with a shimmering sound. “I would say ‘cruel’ is a relative term.”

He could feel his heart sinking. “When do you expect ‘payment’ for this second condition?”

Shinou buffed his nails against his chest casually. “When the end is the beginning...you’ll know the moment. So, do we have a bargain or not?”

Murata had to fight to keep from lowering his head in defeat. “We… _do_.”

“Then, take what you want. Ulrike will hand it over with great reverence.”

~***~

“I don’t like it.”

“Wolfram,” Conrad said wearily. He positioned himself by the window as everyone sat around the desk in the main meeting room. 

“It makes no sense,” Wolfram pressed on, trying not to let his voice rise, willing himself to be calm. “I’ve had more practical field training, and am better with the sword.” He looked to the Sage Spitzweg, daring him to challenge his words. “Am I right?”

The blond sage said nothing. 

Wolfram folded his arms against his chest. His suspicions were right; he’d warrant that the sage spent more of his life in the library than on the training field. Besides, there was another good reason why the sage shouldn’t be there by Yuuri’s side, though he was hesitant to bring that up in front of his brothers and Yuuri. 

“Lord von Spitzweg has more practice with the type of offensive mujutsu that can take the assassin down,” Murata explained. “Besides, you won’t be far from Shibuya.”

“Wolf,” Yuuri said, thus far he’d said nothing. “Conrad will be there, you know. He wouldn’t let anything happen, right?”

Always Conrad. _Always._ But what did that matter now? What was important was Yuuri’s safety.

“I don’t want to take any chances. If anything was to go wrong, or if someone was to hesitate,” he gave the blond sage a significant look. 

Sage Spitzweg blinked back at him seemingly unperturbed. 

“You know my resolve,” the sage said, his eyes full of sincerity. “I would value his life as my own. More so.”

Wolfram refused to break eye contact, and he opened his mouth to respond.

“Well,” Yuuri cut in breaking the tension with nervous laughter. “Nobody is going to get hurt. Besides, I can take care of myself. I am the Maou and it’s my job to protect you guys.” There was a deadly certainty in Yuuri’s voice that took Wolfram’s attention. He’d rarely seen it in the wimp. “That’s my job, after all, right?”

“Yuuri,” Wolfram said softly.

“Good. So everyone is in agreement,” Gwendal said decisively, bringing the meeting to a close.

~***~

The bedroom was simple, which was to his liking. At this point, feeling tired—and that had to be it—anything extravagant would bring back tender memories of a certain person with long dark hair and a smiling face with beautifully slanted black eyes. When he daydreamed, he could practically hear her calling his name, and he knew, without a doubt, that the voice would never call for him again in his lifetime. Sage Wolfram hoped that she’d given up by now. It would be for the best if she had and had moved on—and, maybe, in time, forgiven him for what he’d done to get here.

“A necessary sacrifice…”

A double knock at the door and Sage Wolfram looked up from his work. He was sitting at a modest wooden table with yet another stack of books, an oil lamp, quill, ink pot, parchment, and a small silver tray with a pot of tea, a matching bone china cup, and two crustless watercress sandwiches quickly going stale.

Two knocks more.

“Come,” he sighed and returned to his note taking. Maybe it was the pretty little woman from the kitchen to pick up his snack tray. That would be a good, short conversation and he could continue on. Or, possibly, he could just give her an indifferent nod and look incredibly busy so that he could ignore her entirely.

“It’s me,” Murata announced, poking his head in the door.

“Ah,” he returned, trying to sound neutral. He’d definitely have to stop now because there was no such thing as a short conversation with this world’s Great Sage. There was that “Here we go again” feeling that he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to.

“Nice room…very similar to mine,” Murata explained as he entered without being invited in. He pushed his glasses up with a finger as he observed his surroundings as though they interested him. “I have a room that I use when I’m staying at the castle, too, you see.”

The dark haired sage closed the door behind him absently. Green eyes watched him work with a hint of admiration for how well planned and how natural the action was to grant them both privacy. Yes, he could pull off such a casual movement himself, but, he had to admit, it was a far different thing when seeing it from a different perspective.

It would be best to play along.

“It is modest, but I prefer it.” Sage Spitzweg motioned to the neatly made bed with his inked quill. “Feel free to sit over there. Sadly, I don’t have another chair to offer.”

“That’s fine.” 

The bed frame gave a slight groan as he sat down.

He glanced at his notes briefly, and then put the quill aside. “I’m sorry that I have no news for you,” the blond sage told him, “and this research is painfully slow for me.” He stopped to rub his eyes. Maybe, it was the smoke from the oil lamp which was bothering them along with the usual eyestrain.

“I see.” Murata’s head tilted to the side in order to see him better. “Well, speaking of ‘news,’ I do have some news for you for a change.”

Tiredly, he looked over to his counterpart. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” and he rested his elbows on his thighs. Then, he laced his fingers together in a contemplative way and waited for a response. Sage Wolfram really did appear weary of him…or was it something else? Murata kept his face even, meeting his gaze.

Sage Spitzweg folded his arms against his chest stiffly. How long had he been sitting there, bent over his work? Hours? Only now did he feel it. When the ache stayed with him, he rubbed his forearms with his palms up and down. “I must say that you have piqued my curiosity.” But, soon enough, his emerald eyes changed, growing hard. “Then again… Is this ‘good news’ or is it ‘bad?’ Or does it depend upon context?” Yes, the surrounding circumstances to an issue meant everything at times. 

“I think that a little curiosity is a good thing, wouldn’t you?” A thin smile ghosted his lips. Murata pulled a large, highly polished rock crystal from his trouser pocket. “We now have a suitable crystal to power your rings. So, as you can see for yourself, we can aid you now.” Holding it at arm’s length, he studied it briefly from where he sat on the bed. “Isn’t that great?”

Silence and there was a decidedly cold chill in the room, something that surprised Murata even though he chose to appear not to notice. Sometimes, playing dumb gave incredible insight. This time, he surmised, would be no different. 

He turned the crystal, letting the light from the lamp reflect upon the facets, showing dancing fire within. “Truly a wonder, huh?”

“Is it?” Sage Wolfram’s voice was a hollow whisper. Was he talking to himself? The dark-haired sage couldn’t quite tell until he was asked, “Need I guess the name of the bothersome meddler who was able to hand that over?”

On the other side of the door, Wolfram von Bielefeld stood with his fist raised—ready to knock. “Wait… Did he just call Yuuri a meddler?” he murmured to himself. The blond soldier frowned deeply at the thought. Originally, Wolfram had simply planned to “pay a visit” to Sage Spitzweg and to remind him to keep his hands to himself. Yuuri, wimp that he always was, didn’t need another opportunity to flirt or cheat. At the same time, as someone who was now running within the double black’s private, inner circle, this new sage—this new _Great Sage_ —needed to be reminded that his obligation was to look out for both king and country even though he did not originate from here. Wolfram wanted that formality to be made clear as day, too. But, now, he wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

He leaned against the door frame outside, a hand on his hip.

“I suppose you could see it that way. Still...‘King What’s-his-name came through,” Murata admitted, “after I pieced together a few things.”

“Clues?”

“In a way.”

A seemingly disinterested “hnn” and the sound of a quill scratching on parchment again. “I thought so. He didn’t make it easy for you, either, I suppose. He’s always been like that…such a selfish king.”

“I won’t debate you on that point.”

On the opposite side of the door, Wolfram narrowed his eyes in thought. “No, not Yuuri,” he whispered to himself, “…has to be Shinou…” If so, he could understand that feeling. Shinou had a way of being wholly undetached one moment and highly intrusive the next. That capricious nature was exasperating for everyone involved sometimes and Wolfram was glad to see that the blond sage shared that viewpoint. In a small way, he had a little grudging respect for him now. Maybe, when it came to the Original King, they weren’t so different after all.

Maybe.

“The price?” Wolfram could hear a twin of his own voice ask through the door. “There’s always a price. With Shinou, after all, nothing is for free. We both know that.”

“It’s not important,” Murata brushed off as easily as he could. Why go into it?

There was the sound of a book being slammed shut which made Murata jump and Wolfram lean his ear closer to the door.

“Oh, The Fates,” he grumbled darkly. “Don’t tell me that he’s asked to possess some poor, virgin shrine maiden and then the two of you will spend a day and a night together in the same bed?” He groaned at the end of the sentence with disgust.

“Ummm… Has he asked for that before?”

“Where I’m from?”

“Yes.”

A sigh. “Frequently…as a joke, I hope. And my answer has always been the same.”

Murata chuckled softly to relieve the tension. “He likes annoying me, too. It’s a favorite pastime.”

“Well, he has faded from my world, it seems. Or, maybe, all he chooses to do is watch me now. So…finally…” In a smaller voice, “A relief…”

The springs on the bed gave a squeak as he shifted to get more comfortable. “It’s not all that bad, really. I have to find a replacement for this…” and he held up the jewel again, “...which isn’t hard because I have a fantastic jeweler who will gladly help me out at the right price…among other things.” He huffed a short laugh at the thought of what it was _really_ going to cost him, not that he knew everything thanks to Shinou being enigmatic. “But, you know, if you don’t mind me getting a bit personal…”

Another pause and a “Well?”

There was a kind of defensiveness in that response and a slight hesitation on Murata’s part before beginning. “It seems to me that you complain about Shinou the way an old crone complains about her wayward husband. But there’s something between you two and it is _deep_ …and it is _strong_.” Then, taking a softer tone, he continued with, “But, I also feel that you are torn because there is someone else you want by your side…and the guilt is equally deep and strong.”

“Someone else?” Wolfram whispered, extremely anxious now. Then, at a sound, he turned and glared at a scantily clad maid with feather duster in hand who spied him loitering around the doorway. She hurried off in another direction as quickly as she could, not wanting to be scolded.

“You are ‘me’ and I see the signs.”

“The signs?” the blond sage returned, curious but not debating him on it.

“And,” Murata continued, “it must hurt to know that you cannot have both in your life…not the way you want. You cannot walk both paths the way your heart, mind, and body desires.”

“You think you know everything.” It was starting to sound bitter.

Murata’s voice was clear, “About a certain person with black hair and eyes, maybe? If I’m guessing right, that is…?”

Wolfram felt his breath being taken away. “Y-Yuuri…” The sages had to be talking about Yuuri now. There was no other explanation in his mind. “But, you can’t have him!” Wolfram whispered in an undertone to himself. He made a shaking fist at his side. “If you try, I will consider it a challenge. Can you handle that, I wonder? Do you really want to do that, von Spitzweg?”

“Must we talk about it like this?” He seemed to be evading the obvious.

“Considering the options?” Murata returned. “All you have to do is make good decisions, reach out your hand, and ask for what you want. Stop playing the role of the martyr.”

A cynical laugh from the blond at the desk.

“No, seriously,” Murata soothed. “Be who you are. Accept what you really want. And, above everything else, stop shackling yourself to the image of the Original Sage. He is a part of you, but you are not him.” The bed springs squeaked a little when he bounced intentionally. The sound of heels playfully kicking the floor off rhythm could be heard. “Besides, a little taste of love is what I’d prescribe again if I had been born a _doctor in this life_. It would do you good.”

On the other side of the door, Wolfram shook his head slowly—green eyes growing harder with anger and a sense of betrayal. “No,” he said darkly, “I care for Yuuri… _deeply_. He’s mine…for now…and I’ve suffered for so long through all of the nonsense he’s put me through.”

“Love…huh?” There was a strangely distant way in which Sage Spitzweg said it to Murata.

“Oh, yes…” He kicked his feet a little absently. “And, speaking of ‘physicians’ and healers… You look bad.”

A sarcastic and boyish, “Oh, thanks.”

“No, seriously,” the dark sage told him, being unusually direct. “This is the first time I’ve really noticed it. You’re starting to look unwell.”

“The effect of the lamplight…nothing more.”

“I’m being entirely truthful,” Murata said sternly and, this time, Wolfram leaned down to peep through the keyhole. He knew that it was a bit beneath him, as servants did it all the time, but he really was that curious. Murata Ken rarely spoke in that particular tone to anyone.

The dark sage lifted the delicate lid on the china teapot, noting the level of the liquid inside. “It’s a thing called ‘failure to thrive’ and you’re starting to show many of the classic symptoms. You’re looking like you haven’t slept for several days, and you’re hunched over the table when you sit. You seem anemic and you eat and drink irregularly.” A direct stare. “Tell me… When was the last time you felt hungry?”

“You’re exaggerating.” The blond put an elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand.

Murata closed the lid and nudged a triangle sandwich with an index finger in his counterpart’s direction. “You are starting to grow thin. I can see it in your face. And you probably have issues with absorbing nutrients. Next, the problems you’ll be facing will be with things like ‘keeping your concentration’ and ‘depression.’ After that….”

“Wait… He really is sick?” Wolfram murmured disbelievingly. “I had suspected something before and then dismissed it, but…”

“I’m working hard. Nothing more,” von Spitzweg interrupted. “You’ve done the same yourself, I’ll bet. Isn’t that so?”

Murata pursed his lips slightly. It felt like he was debating with himself. “I would prefer that you _not_ lie to me.” He pointed a finger at him. “You’re ill. Your acting job has been four stars, though. I’ll grant you that much.”

A short, huffed laugh. “I’ve always loved the theater.”

“Not my point.”

“I know.”

“Something must be done,” Murata urged quietly, “and soon. Because you’re running out of time and we both know it.” He was now directly facing the blond sage and blocking Wolfram’s view of his reaction. That part was frustrating. He wanted to stomp his foot.

“Yuuri Heika is my priority.”

Wolfram narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I’ll just bet he is,” the blond soldier grumbled.

Murata hummed an agreement. “He is for me as well. You and I are alike. Our feelings are the same.”

“Are you so sure?” The voice had a hint of a smile in it.

“Going back to my _original_ topic,” and the dark sage’s voice took an edge to it again, “think about yourself for a moment. After all, as sages, that’s what we’re good at… _thinking_ ,” Murata contested with resolve this time. He had debated Shinou enough times in order to get his point across. He’d do it with his counterpart with no qualms. “We have to use the crystal…somehow…and we need to send you home.” Black eyes met green. “This world can’t have two ‘Wolframs’ in it. It simply can’t. You knew that all along. And you certainly knew that from the moment you arrived here and met the ‘Selfish Loafer.’”

Wolfram stood up and blinked at the closed door.

“Hmmm… ‘Selfish Loafer?’ Is that what they call him here?”

“Among other things.”

“I see…”

Murata sat on the bed again and steepled his fingers in a contemplative way now that he had his attention. “The point here is that the two of you can’t be here…can’t be anywhere in this reality for very long. It was never designed to hold you both. So, as time passes, you will pay the price… growing weaker and sicker…and in pain.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. “We’ve discussed this before…the corrosion. But, back then, from my perspective, it was just a theoretical ‘possibility.’ And, now, I see the first signs. So, yes, I am disturbed by what I see.”

Von Spitzweg was about to open his mouth to counter when Murata added, “And you should be, too, because even if you pretend not to care, the others will soon take notice…considering the rate your body is failing. And, like it or not, they will begin to ask questions…”

Wolfram stepped away from the door and silently walked off, stunned. “There can’t be two of us?” With each step, it felt as though darkness was wrapping against his skin, shrouding him. “It’s my fault that he’s ill? I’m hurting him?” He shook his head absently and murmured, “My fault…?” Wolfram turned back slightly, looked over his shoulder, and stared at the door. “And who offers the greater good?” he asked himself, “A soldier who bleeds and dies on the field for his king or a ‘Great Sage’ …the keeper of memories, blessed by Shinou?”

His chest hurt.

He knew the answer.

It was the way of things, wasn’t it? He should have known. Left behind by his mother while she shamelessly pursued a thousand faithless lovers. To be humored by his older brothers who chose duty over family. Bound to a fiancé who would not even feign the slightest sign of affection—not even for the sake of a bountiful harvest. Everything that they had together was a lie, wasn’t it? But, for now, it was “their lie.” 

Theirs.

A “selfish loafer” they said he was.

Maybe.

Maybe that was true. He would grant that possibility. But if they wanted to see “selfish,” he could easily show it to them if he really tried.

Once again, he made a tight fist, nails biting into his hand.

But by living…was he selfish? Really? Wolfram didn’t know anymore, and his footsteps grew heavy. Something felt ragged and torn inside, too. And, for the first time, he questioned whether or not he had a place in this world. 

_Better yet_ , Wolfram thought as he closed his eyes tightly, _what if I wasn’t here at all?_

~***~

Wolfram had been acting strange lately. Well, it’s not like Yuuri couldn’t understand. Things had been frantic. And, between the arrival of this strange, confusing other “Wolfram” who wasn’t Wolfram and this shape-shifting person or thing that wanted him dead, and had now killed one of Gwendal’s men, everyone was either stressed out or terrified.

He pushed some paper aside and, for a moment, rested his head against the cool oak. This was a rare moment alone while Günter had rushed off to grab some more papers for him to sign. But despite that, he missed Wolfram, and it wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way. He’d gladly give up this second of silence to have Wolf nag him about the paperwork or anything else for that matter. 

In the distance, he could hear the drills of men on the practice yard below. That’s probably where Conrad was now, prepping the men for security detail at the ball. He took a deep breath and then leaned back on the chair and stretched his arms. 

It wouldn’t be too long until Günter was back. If he closed his eyes, he could easily hear the men stationed on guard duty outside. If his Maou-heightened hearing was right, there were four of them. Stupid really. Out of everyone here, he least needed protection. He wished that terrible assassin had come for him that night. He was sure he could have stopped him.

It upset him that he’d failed that one guard who died, and he was scared that more would get hurt. What was the point of having all this power of the Maou if he couldn’t even protect a single person in the castle he lived in? He wished he could talk to Wolfram and tell him his worries. He wished things weren’t so frantic. He wished that things would slow down for a moment so he could just breathe.

There were steps coming down the hallway, not the hurried steps he associated with Günter, but something a little more sedate. Yuuri recognised it as Murata.

There was a knock on the door. 

“Come in, Murata.” He called out.

Murata appeared, looking way too serene for Yuuri’s liking, for some reason that irritated Yuuri. 

“You’re getting good with the...” Murata pointed to his ears.

Yuuri shrugged. “Not that it did Wallace much good.” Yes, he knew the name. He’d asked Günter. He wished he could have done more, but ...the man was under Gwendal’s command. There were ties amongst the soldiers in the troops that Yuuri didn’t think he would ever be a part of, and it wasn’t his place to do so. Four years ago, he’d not care and barge right in, but he was starting to get a bit more sense with these things, knew that it would weaken Gwendal’s authority as Chancellor and General. It was sad really. These men would die for him, but he’d never really be their friends. They only knew him as the distant, benevolent king. He didn’t think he ever would get used to that.

Murata frowned and cut into his sad thoughts. “You can’t be expected to be able to hear through five solid rock floors at midnight while you, very likely, slept. Not even the Maou is that good, not even Shinou knew.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Murata sat down opposite him and quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t imagine that even you could be so powerful, unless there is something you’re not telling-“

“No,” Yuuri burst out before Murata finished, desperate to break through Murata’s calm. “Can you be certain Shinou didn’t know? He’s a god, isn’t he? Can see everything at once? Perhaps, he did know and didn’t want to meddle. It’s not the first time, right?” Though it didn’t stop him from meddling when he wasn’t needed. Typical.

Murata frowned. “Not even I can pretend to understand what Shinou knows or thinks.” 

“So maybe he did, and he talks to you the most. And I’ve hardly seen you lately. You’ve been off talking to Wolfr- to that other sage, so you can’t blame me for wondering.”

Murata stilled. “You think I would sit back and let a dangerous assassin casually wander into the castle.” 

The temperature in the room dropped and Yuuri looked away, feeling bad. How could he possibly think that?

“I don’t know...I’m sorry. It’s just, everything has been so stressful.” He rubbed his eyes. “Have you seen Wolfram about?”

“In passing, he was talking to Lord von Spitzweg earlier.”

“Oh...well that’s good...he seems to get along with him.” After such a rocky beginning it was a bit of a relief.

“That’s a good thing, considering it will be Lord von Spitzweg who will be escorting you to the ball tonight,” Murata said, though it seemed less like a statement and more like a question. Murata never brought up things randomly.

“Yeah...right.”

“Lord von Bielefeld seems amazingly calm about that after his initial protest at the meeting. I would never have guessed he would be like that a year ago. He usually gets a bit more ‘excitable’ when others show an interest in you.” 

“Wolfram, the _other_ Wolfram, isn’t interested in me...not in that way.” Yuuri said quickly.

“True,” Murata said after a moment. “But you do know what is expected of you with regard to your fiancé at the Fertility Ball. What with the current crisis nobody is likely to raise it, but it will be awkward for you to confirm your intentions to the kingdom when your fiancé is being impersonated by another.”

“I know.” Yuuri felt his face fall. “I don’t know what to do. He’s been so distant. I told him just before the assassin killed...err...the intrusion. I told him what I wanted, like Conrad advised, what my decision was. I want to marry him, Murata, but he didn’t seem interested.”

“Not interested?” Murata parroted back, seemingly more surprised by that than Yuuri’s confession that he did want to marry Wolfram. Perhaps, he’d been more obvious than he thought. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“I told him...I told him that I wanted to talk to him about the ball, and he said he understood, and he seemed upset so...” Yuuri trailed off.

“He _understood_?” Murata shook his head. “Shibuya, did you tell him you wanted to marry him, clearly, and in those words.” Murata sounded exasperated.

“No...but... _oh_.” Yuuri slapped his forehead. “I’m such an idiot.”

Murata didn’t disagree. “I think you should find him today and tell him, before things get truly hectic this afternoon.”

The door opened and Günter appeared, arms full of papers. “Your Majesty, I’ve found the extra requisition. Oh, good day, Your Eminence.”

“Papers, oh goody,” Yuuri said under his breath.

Murata stood up and nodded to Günter, “Good day, my Lord.” Murata turned to Yuuri. “Well, I’m off. If I see Lord von Bielefeld, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, Murata.” He tried not to groan as the papers were dumped on his desk.

~***~

“Umm…Excuse me?” and a brief, light knock.

The wooden door rattled awkwardly and, on the second try, a young maid breezed in with a heavy burden stretched across her arms. She smiled up with a slight wink, letting Wolfram know that he was more than appealing to her. He returned with a benevolent one, amused but knowing better than to have a taste of this temptation in Lord Rochford’s house.

“I am Rosaline,” she said in a warm, flirtatious voice as she laid out the clothing across the bed with reverence. At the same time, she made sure he could admire her tight, lace up the back bodice, hair pinned up and nape of the neck exposed-- a nice view that would, hopefully, please him. Rosaline smoothed down her skirts and turned. “And I am completely…yours” another smile and a toss of her pretty strawberry blond head. “Feel free to ask anything of me.”

“Thank you,” he returned modestly, hands clasped before him.

“My Lord bids you to try these on,” and her girlish excitement seemed to grow, “for the Fertility Ball. A masked ball! It’s so exciting.”

He walked toward the bed with slow, even steps—gradually taking in the magnificent suit of clothes, white gloves, and glittering mask. Standing beside her, he murmured, “Only the best from Lord Rochford.”

“Sorry?” she asked. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Sage von Spitzweg leaned in a bit like a conspirator, toying with her. “Oh, I was asking whether or not you’ve ever attended. You seem so enthusiastic.” He ended the comment with his emerald eyes drawn to her long eyelashes—something that she seemed to like very much.

“Oh, no,” followed by a girlish giggle. “I’m just a poor girl from the mountains. Lord Rochford picked me up on one of his travels, took pity on me, and brought me here as a servant.”

“I’ll just bet he did,” Wolfram replied and tickled her under her chin. Her grin widened as he’d hoped.

“So, I know very little…”

He doubted that and quirked grin. “Oh, I think you know many, many things…” 

Rosaline giggled again.

“Ah, but I must let you go now so that I may please Lord Rochford by trying on this excellent costume for the ball.” His eyes danced at her. “You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

She gave a low curtsey, revealing a particularly cute lace bra strap and then departed.

The blond sage sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the mask. “Sky blue and cold silver with silk ribbon tie strings… Good colours, Lord Rochford.” He threaded the silk ribbons through his fingers a few times for the feel. “The beadwork is exquisitely done as well as is the lace trim, I see. Fine workmanship…” Holding an edge, he placed the mask against his face and beamed.

“Needed and not needed…”

He tilted his head to the side.

“Are you waiting for me out there, Yuuri? Are you thinking about me, I wonder?”  
A slight chuckle.

“Thinking…”

“Thinking…”

He laughed. It was so funny. Just imagining all of their faces when the time came. It was so funny. Sometimes, he just thought of funny things and had to laugh out loud because everyone was so foolish. He was the only one who saw things right. Had jumped into so many worlds so many times and seen it all. Knew it all. Yes, all of it! He was the Great Sage—the best one. The only one that mattered. He had been under Shinou’s thumb for so long, but no more and no longer.

But now….

“Now, Yuuri. You’re the one....”

He lowered the mask asking, “Do you realize how important I am? How necessary?”

Sage von Spitzweg let the mask fall. His laugh was pained now. He covered his eyes with his palm. “Everything will be safe and perfect. It must be just right because I won’t be ignored. I will be recognized because I have the answers and this is the way to do it. It has to end the way I’ve planned. It just has to.”

~***~

With the last preen of a much plainer cravat than he was used to wearing, Wolfram studied himself in the mirror. He looked pale in the waning light, pale and tired. He picked up the plain blue mask on the side-table, next to Yuuri’s which was finely crafted with black gems. Yuuri had been dragged away to talk to Brother and Conrad, unwillingly, only a few minutes after he’d finished up with his paperwork and got back to the suite.

The wimp would have to hurry up to get ready for the ball. At this rate, he’d not have time to even make sure Yuuri was smartly dressed. Though, it really wasn’t his place anymore, not really.

He studied the mask. It would suit the uniform which he’d borrowed from one of his men. He hovered it over his face and looked at the mirror. It would also hide how tired he looked. 

He’d woken early this morning, his sleep broken by disturbing dreams he couldn’t quite remember, full of anxiety and dread. In the morning light, he’d studied Yuuri’s face, and dared to gently touch the black strands in a way that Yuuri would never let him when he was awake. In a way, he’d likely never get to again. 

Wolfram remembered wondering, as he marvelled at the silky texture, about how love could hurt so badly. 

He loved Yuuri so much, in a way that years ago he never imagined possible. For so long now, that love was a constant: on the good days, when Yuuri would smile at him or when they would talk, or when Yuuri would confide in him, that constancy would warm him. It would make his day brighter, make him feel like he’d found a place to belong, to be needed. On the bad days, when they argued, when Yuuri would flirt with the maids or get annoyed at him, that same constancy would be a barb under his skin, a sting that hurt more than any physical wound.

For years, the “good” would make the bad days bearable. Bearable enough that he was able to justify his selfishness in being by Yuuri’s side.

He put the mask on and studied himself critically. He couldn’t justify it anymore.

Making sure his scabbard was securely adjusted, he put his hand out to open the door, only to have it flung open in front of him with a panting Yuuri on the other side.

“Wolf...we need to talk. It’s important.” 

“You need to get dressed now,” Wolfram said curtly. “What’s _important_ is getting you ready for the ball. There are many people waiting for you there. Important people. The guests will be arriving in less than an hour. Sage von Spitzweg will be waiting, and I need to get down and check on my men.”

Yuuri sighed and sat on the bed, in total disregard to Wolfram’s plea. It was infuriating. Wolfram decided to ignore him for now; it wouldn’t be long before Conrad would drag him away.

“What has been going through your mind over the last few days?" Yuuri asked him softly, after a moment. What an odd question. He raked his hand through his hair.

Did Yuuri really want to know? Well, why not.

"I’ve been thinking about the other world. It seems so different. It's just...frightening how many things could have turned out another way."

. What if Yuuri had decided to stay on Earth? And in some world he certainly did, if anything that Murata said about alternate worlds was true, and Wolfram had no reason to doubt him. 

"I wonder,” Wolfram said, following that thought, "where I am?"

"What?" asked Yuuri.

"In the other world, where did I end up? The Great Sage’s soul was born in my body. Where did my soul go to? “Wolfram looked down. "Perhaps I was never born. My soul never created."

Yuuri didn’t say anything. 

“And...” Wolfram said, feeling even more tired, and not just physically, “It didn’t change a thing. Everything turned out exactly the same in their world. They discovered Morgif, created a treaty with the human nations, and defeated Soushou, and their majesty got engaged. All _without_ me. It makes me wonder...”

Wolfram looked at Yuuri miserably, looking for some sign from Yuuri, though he didn’t know what. Maybe just some understanding.

Yuuri looked a little stunned, he opened his mouth and closed it. 

“Don’t force yourself,” Wolfram said curtly. “It was just some pointless thoughts.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No Wolf, I don’t think-“

“Wolfram, Gwendal needs you now.” Conrad appeared at the door. “One of his men is ill, so we need to change the floor plan for security.” His brother looked more stressed than Wolfram had seen in a while.

“I need to talk to Wolf first.”

“Sorry, Your Majesty. It will have to wait.”

Yuuri looked like he was about to argue.

“Is it more urgent than security?” Wolfram asked.

“No..but-“

“We’ll talk about it later.” He once more made sure his mask was in place. From now on he’d be under-cover. 

He walked past Yuuri quickly. He really didn’t need any distraction tonight. 

“Wolf,” Yuuri stopped him with a hand and pulled him back. 

Despite himself, his eyes met Yuuri’s dark ones.

“Wolf...please, be careful alright?”

Wolf nodded quickly and left before he said, or did, something that would embarrass them both.

~***~

“The Fertility Ball,” Yuuri sighed, looking into his wine glass pensively for a moment. He found himself slowly wandering around with the drink in hand which Conrad had thoughtfully watered down for him. The double black was really not a fan of alcohol. He’d attended too many parties where the nobles began the evening with the best of manners only to have a drink or “three” put into them soon followed by loud voices and, often, rowdy behaviour that Yozak had to politely break-up.

The double black swept his eyes across the room. Well, so far, things were going well. Nothing untoward had happened, and the guests seemed to be having a lovely time. With the Fertility Ball celebration, that was really the goal, wasn’t it? Having fun?

_And then, of course_ … he thought.

His eyes lit up when a blue masked man with a lithe build and blond hair passed close by. Yuuri was about to call out “Wolfram” when another, almost identical, person strode by going in the opposite direction, weaving gracefully through the multitude. Then, a third who was wearing similar clothes and a blue mask with sparkles met up with another and clapped each other on the back like old friends. “The House of Bielefeld,” Yuuri murmured to himself in realization. Of course, with this masked ball, he was going to see many of them—similar shades of blond with nimble bodies and that perfect, pouty mouth. Of course, Wolfram’s was, in his opinion, the ideal—that amusing pout which made Wolfram “Wolfram” in a special way. And, yet, a part of Yuuri knew that Greta could probably pick out their Wolfram from a mile away just from the way he walked.

Okay, that irked him. Yuuri knew that he’d have to try harder in the future to get to know Wolfram better. He would just have to. That was a given.

Movement at his side and Sage Wolfram stepped closer to Yuuri, lowering his elegant hand painted silver on blue mask for a brief second—giving a playful wink. “To be on my fiancé’s arm is such a treat tonight,” he proclaimed loud enough to be overheard. 

To that, the double black gave a nod but responded casually, “… _Enjoyable_ …is the word you’re looking for.” In a softer tone, Yuuri explained, “He wouldn’t use ‘treat.’ That sounds more like Günter’s fancy talk.”

“Oh?” A blond eyebrow was raised. “Sorry, then.”

A shrug back. Why did he feel so down now? Just now… Or had it been from the moment he stepped into the Grand Ballroom and found himself surrounded by a room full of admirers, decorations, a towering cake, exotically prepared sweets, and a party atmosphere he wasn’t in the mood for? He glanced to the side. Even the elderly, blue-haired harpist seemed in good spirits, and she had only finished her third song—whatever it was.

“Oh, look. There’s my uncle,” and Wolfram pointed in the appropriate direction. “I think he’s talking to one of my cousins. Though, with everyone being masked tonight, it is very difficult to tell which one it is.”

“Uh…yeah…” the double black agreed.

Yuuri felt his hand tugging him in the opposite direction. “They seem busy. So, let’s talk to them later.”

“Much later,” Yuuri said under his breath and got a friendly squeeze of the hand in return.

On they went at a casual pace. Thankfully, they avoided a pair of twins who had attended the last gala held at the castle. Yuuri couldn’t remember their names, but he did remember—vividly—that Wolfram had thrown a colossal fit about him flirting with them. Luckily, they didn’t turn and notice him approaching from behind. Then again, he was with “Wolfram” at the moment and that fiery temper was usually enough to have most girls wait politely in the wings for what Yuuri thought was only a nice, friendly chat.

That had to be it, right? Wolfram had a habit of making too much out of everything.  
A familiar “Wolframish” chuckle and they continued on their way. Hand in hand, the two of them approached the table with strawberry tarts and found Günter talking to Anissina’s brother, Densham von Karbelnikoff, and a masked woman dressed entirely in teal. Not surprisingly, von Karbelnikoff’s mask was red velvet with cascading peacock feathers affixed to the right side which symbolized nobility, patience, and good fortune.

“Ah, Yuuri Heika!” Günter greeted and clasped his hands happily. “May I say, you are absolutely dashing tonight!”

“Oh, yes. Such a _treat_ ,” Sage Wolfram chimed in with a hint of sarcasm.

“Absolutely!” Günter agreed dramatically. “It is enough to make the heart weep with joy.” Even with his fuchsia and ivory lace mask on, it was obvious that there were tears in his eyes at the magnificent sight of his beloved king.

Typical Günter.

“Yes, Heika,” Karbelnikoff said with a smile, “the three of us…including dear Lady Winthrop here…were just discussing you, your excellent party, and _tonight’s events._ ” He gave a knowing look and a naughty boy nod. Then, turning on a dime, he switched subjects the way nobles often did. “I, in fact, am so looking forward to tasting that magnificent cake.” He made a gesture toward the towering five tiered cake not far from where they were standing. The heavy, combined scent of sugar, maple, and spices hung in the air.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Sage Wolfram agreed, adjusting the straps holding his mask a little and then smoothing down his coat even though he really didn’t need to. It was the kind of preening that gentlemen did in polite company and Yuuri took notice of it. Even Wolfram did it from time to time if the conversation was just small talk and the dignitary was someone of high rank. 

Yuuri took a small sip from his wine glass and then glanced away, letting Sage Wolfram take over the conversation.

_Wolfram…_

_Wolfram…_

Bossy, annoying, loud, loyal, good, straightforward, beautiful... _Wolfram._ He really missed him. Where was he now?

Some part of Yuuri waited for Wolfram. It sounded strange, but it was true. _Waiting._ That was the feeling as well as something else he couldn’t quite put a name to.

Colors.  
Movement.  
People.  
Laughing.

A polite cough at his side and Yuuri blinked. A strawberry tart was being offered, and the double black took it without thinking or thanking him.

“I was saying,” Sage Wolfram went on, “that I believe this tart will go along well with your light red wine, Yuuri.” He cocked his blond head handsomely to the side. “That was what you were thinking about, I’m sure. One must be choosy when selecting wine with sweets.” Green eyes darted to a brunette with a pink and white mask with matching low cut gown. “Or, in terms of ‘tarts,’ you could be thinking of…?”

“Please,” Günter moaned quietly, “do not…tonight of all nights…claim that Yuuri Heika is flirting or cheating on you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened somewhat and he looked to the sage.

A quirked grin in response and Sage Wolfram leaned into Yuuri, toying with a strand of his black hair within full view of everyone around, “Tonight, of all nights, I really don’t think that is a worry for me.” Green eyes met black and Yuuri felt himself—his resolve—melt a little. Those eyes were Wolfram’s in so many ways. Yes, that and a “cat has cream” expression. “Well? Wouldn’t you say, Yuuri?” And, to that, all the double black could do was nod dumbly and take a bite of the delicious tart. The next thing he knew, Sage Wolfram had him by the elbow, leading him in the direction of another high ranking lord of the court. It was amazing how effortlessly he could do that, Yuuri realized—moving from place to place and noble to noble. Drifting among them all. But, in reality, there was a design to it—weaving among the crowd with the intent of avoiding the larger, possibly more dangerous, gatherings of people while still allowing Conrad to casually shadow them.

To protect them.

Yuuri didn’t even need to look back to sense his presence.

But in terms of “watching him,” Wolfram was here, too—somewhere. _Somewhere._ And, as always, it seemed, they were together and apart. _Wolfram, protective and determined… He glanced around again. _Where are you, Wolf? I need…__

Sage Wolfram’s voice faded in again. “And, you know, we have the first dance coming up.” The double black looked to him again. 

“Sorry? What?” He glanced around. It was just the two of them for the moment. He decided that the guests that they had just been chatting with had drifted off in the direction of the drinks table which was crowded around by the burlier family members of the House of von Grantz. A tall woman with a sparkling hairpin was working behind the table, serving drinks, and having quite a time with the rowdy men, too, politely holding them off. Apparently, there was a frilly garter of interest. 

Yuuri glanced at her briefly and she gave a playful wave. 

“Hear the musicians warming up? The dancing is about to start. That means you and I have to go to the dance floor now.” Sage Wolfram took Yuuri’s wine glass and passed it to a servant who happened to be walking by. “Come, take my hand, Yuuri.” 

The double black threw him an uncomfortable look. “Uhh…right now?” 

A slightly confused frown ghosted his pale features. “Well, to be perfectly honest… _yes.”_

He looked down at his shoes briefly. Maybe, if he explained… “You see, I don’t dance so great…Really, I’m…I’m not good at all.” He made a flopping gesture with both arms at his sides that he hoped would be interpreted as “I’m totally useless.” 

A smirk from the blond. “Well, then, you are in excellent luck tonight because I’m a fantastic teacher.” 

“B-But!!” the double black stammered. 

“Oh, nonsense.” 

The young king looked left and right to see if they were being overheard. “No, really. I’m not exaggerating.” 

“Neither am I. Come along.” They stepped lively through the crowd again thanks to the blond’s playful lead, joined hands swinging slightly. “It’s fine. Let me see how much Günter has taught you.” And before the double black knew it, they skillfully avoided another “gaggle” of young girls in colorful dresses and Yuuri’s clasped hand was now tugging him along, leading him through the rest of the throng. 

A brief moment of silence between them and then, “I’m assuming it was Günter because he is the one who tends to teach such things. Am I right, Yuuri?” 

The double black tried to keep his voice down. “Well, I wasn’t so good because I wanted…” 

“A woman as a partner?” His voice seemed slightly hollow. They passed another person and he added subtly, “We can’t always have the people we need the way we need them.” 

“You’re understanding,” Yuuri replied, head down and eyes in shadow. 

“No…no, I don’t think so…” 

The tugging stopped, he noticed. They had stopped. Now, just the two of them were standing in the middle of the marble dance floor and Sage Wolfram before him had a perfectly serene smile on his face—well practiced, expert. Very Murata. Somehow, it made things slightly easier. And, in another sense entirely, it didn’t. 

“I’m not sure I can do this in front of everyone,” Yuuri whispered, feeling butterflies in his stomach. “Usually, I get out of this somehow or someone arranges everything to be really really short, so…” 

The sage, leaning in, said, “We have to act normally and, in this reality, this is what ‘normal’ happens to be. Anything different will make little bells ring in their heads. We will standout…uncomfortably so.” His lips smirked slightly with “Do you really want that? After all the work we’ve put in just to prepare for tonight?” 

They were so close now. Yuuri’s eyes were drawn to the sage’s soft lips as he spoke and several of the nobles noticed and a few whispered encouraging comments behind their fans.  
“Now…you,” the blond said, “are going to lead because you are king.” He took the double black’s hand as though casually holding hands but was, instead, positioning it. “So, put your hand on my waist here and then grasp my other hand.” He tried to look modest while directing, “Excellent. Now… Call the dance and the song.” 

“R-Right…” Yuuri looked to the orchestra. Was it his imagination or were the musicians who were dressed in formal costume smiling at him knowingly? “Umm…a waltz, please…” 

The room grew silent and Sage Wolfram prodded, “Song?” 

The double black’s eyebrows knit together. He couldn’t think of one! Now, there had to be something and he kept racking his brains to find a song. Something. Anything! He could actually feel himself sweat. Finally, he remembered one that Greta had mentioned over dinner one night. That would just have to be it because nothing else was coming to mind.  
Yuuri glanced at his dance partner, “I’d like… ‘After the Ball’ …I think.” 

Green eyes grew stern for the first time. “The song’s a tragedy. Rethink your choice.” 

“S-Seriously?” 

_“Y-e-s”_ was gritted out between smiling teeth. 

“I got it from Greta, so...” 

“Then, pay more attention to the music your daughter listens to.” 

“Sheesh…Okay, okay,” Yuuri complained lowly. “Ummm…Well… Uh…” 

The blond turned to the orchestra with a winning smile. “His Majesty would enjoy ‘Your Life, My World’” and the crowd gathered on the edge of the dance floor murmured appreciatively. Words like “So romantic of him” and “So traditional! I’ve loved that song all my life” and “Such a good king we have” were whispered around the room. Günter dabbed at his streaming eyes with a colorful, lace-edged handkerchief. 

Yuuri looked all around him and then gave a nervous nod. “Thanks for saving me,” he said in a modest, low tone, hoping no one could hear him. 

“Not a problem,” Sage Wolfram returned, guiding them into the first steps together, “but I can see why my counterpart grows ‘displeased’ with you from time to time. What you say or choose will always impact him directly or indirectly…personally… _deeply_ , if you get my meaning.” Dark eyes widened to those words asking “Really?” as they made the next few choreographed steps together. 

“Yes. You can’t just make up all the social rules as you go along…even if you are the maou.” 

“I…I see… I mean, he’s always told me…kind of…but I just thought he was being…” 

“Overbearing?” The blond leaned in, and Yuuri could feel the bright hair tickling him with whispered words of “Now that you have been enlightened, let go of that ‘whipped puppy’ expression…which might confuse the guests…and smile for me…a true smile.” He guided Yuuri’s body closer. “You can do that, can’t you?” 

“I guess.” 

“Try harder” and a green-eyed wink. “Look me in the eyes and pretend that you like me.” 

Yuuri shook his head slightly to clear it. “Pretend? But I do like you…very much.” 

A quirked grin, very Murata. “Be careful now. There is ‘like’ and there is ‘ _like._ ’” They stepped together. “Don’t get my hopes up,” he flirted, pulling him closer as they danced and Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the body, the scent of Sage Wolfram. The closeness. That was it. Yuuri’s body just reacted on its own—making him flustered. Still, there was something so very ‘real’ about Sage Wolfram. And, yet, this moment was also very dreamlike because even though, in his heart, he knew that Sage Wolfram wasn’t “his Wolfram,” there was the same kind of vitality, the same kind of pull. 

And, once again, his heart was giving into it. 

Little.  
By.  
Little. 

He hummed and closed his green eyes briefly. “You’re getting better very quickly,” the blond sage whispered into his ear. 

“Thank you,” Yuuri told him, “and you’re a great dancer as well as a teacher.” 

A kindly-put “I appreciate it.” 

And that song easily blended into the next with the nobles now joining them on the dance floor. Costumes twirling and the twinkle of sequined masks. But they paid them no heed. They didn’t need to. 

A few steps more and, despite himself, Yuuri found the dancing to be great fun. And even when Sage Wolfram, from time to time, leaned into him to give tips on ways to improve his timing, the double black enjoyed the soft tickling of his blond hair, the scent of summer and sunflowers on his skin, and the warmth of his sweet wine breath. 

Yuuri was captivated. 

So very much so. 


	4. Chapter 4

~***~

There were times when Murata hated, truly hated, the awe and fear his position inspired in Shin Makoku. He was even feared among the nobility. And then there were times, like now, when he found that fear convenient.

After the customary greeting and polite exchange of words to the appropriate nobles and diplomats, he was able to retire next to Shibuya’s podium and scan the room without any interference. He didn’t even have to talk to Shibuya, not that he minded, especially when he would play a game for his own amusement, making the most outrageous and lewd remarks about the guests in Japanese to provoke some reaction out of his friend.

But tonight, the maou’s partner was keeping Shibuya occupied, and doing a very good job of it. With grace and presence that this world’s twin could match when not having tantrums, Sage Spitzweg guided Yuuri from guest to guest, arm on his elbow. The small whispers would look like endearments from a lover for most people at the ball, but it was almost certainly Lord von Spitzweg directing Shibuya on what do next, what to say and how to say it. Times like this, Shibuya could be high maintenance.

The blond sage was handling Shibuya’s quirks well. Shibuya was obviously smitten by his partner’s smiles and looks. This troubled Murata. And not just because he knew it would send Shibuya’s fiancé into a snit that the castle would feel for days. Since Lord von Spitzweg was very ill, he’d assumed that his counterpart would overlook the pain and carry out the mission as best he could, and do tolerably well. Murata was in no doubt of that. Pain management was a skill they had perfected over many centuries of necessity, an exercise in mental control. But even so, there would still be tiny signs; disregarding pain didn’t make it magically disappear. Yet, try as he might, Murata couldn’t see any sign of distress. Lord von Spitzweg, resplendent in his outfit, was in top form, in complete contrast to how miserable Lord von Bielefeld had looked just before the ball. 

Sage Spitzweg was radiant, and Murata could see no sign of deterioration. The minor telltale trembling of the fingers was absent, something that Murata had noticed over the last few days, when the blond sage hadn’t been keeping his hands in his pocket, or firmly gripping the edge of a table, or railing. 

The type of degeneration that Sage Spitzweg suffered had no cure, so there was only one explanation for the apparent recovery, and it didn’t bode well.

He tried to dismiss that worry; he was sure he’d need to deal with the problem later. Now, there were more pressing concerns, like a certain shape-shifting assassin.

From where he stood, he observed the people milling around closest to him and then, slowly, tried to scan the crowd to the back.

And then, within earshot, “My, my, my,” blathered a plump, middle aged mazoku woman from behind her salmon pink fan, “I do wonder where our lovely Lady Celi is this evening. Most certainly, this is not the sort of party she is likely to miss.”

Inwardly, Murata rolled his eyes at that comment as the woman continued her promenade with her tall and gangly friend in tow. A third friend with a garish fan decorated with dangling peacock feathers was skipping up from behind to add to the gossip. “From what I hear, she has found ‘free love’ aboard her yacht again.” The comment was emphasized by a quick hand motion, fanning herself while sending peacock plumes in all directions. A disinterested hum from the plump woman and a snide, “Well, she _does_ attract men well enough at her age and, frankly, she does tend to birth very handsome men...even our Maou has taken a liking to one of them.”

Murata rocked on his heels a little at the prattle. These women, obviously, posed no threat. The sharpest things that they had on them were their tongues. It was better to ignore them. He had more important things to do tonight than listen to “courtly speculation” or what the women in the local village called “hen-talk.”

Murata went back to his thankfully dull, lone vigil at Shibuya’s podium.

Lord Weller was tailing Shibuya inconspicuously, eyes scanning everyone who approached Shibuya. Murata noted his body language. The man was getting tenser as the night wore on without any sign of trouble. Murata’s eyes wandered over to Lord von Voltaire who was talking to Lady von Karbelnikoff, his body just as tense. Finding Lord von Bielefeld in the crowd was not so easy, there were so many of his men around, with similar build and coloring, but he was of no doubt that he’d be near, most likely simmering as the blond sage took his fiancé out onto the middle of the floor for a dance. Hopefully, Shibuya’s fiancé would see Sage Spitzweg’s strategy and not doing anything rash.

_‘Smart move, Spitzweg,’_ Murata thought, keeping Shibuya out in the middle there, clear of the crowds who watched would make any assassin’s move noticeable. It was almost certainly the safest place for Shibuya to be. Not to mention a politically clever move. If things kept up on like this, Bielefeld’s reputation would be saved. Over in the corner, Lord Waltorana von Bielefeld was positively beaming at his nephew’s evident closeness to the king. Naked ambition mixed with genuine pride. Murata was glad, that for now, the Bielefeld patriarch was an ally. The man was intelligent, and powerful and very much invested in his nephew’s future. 

On the dance floor, Shibuya gave the blond sage a painfully honest smile. 

So many layers, so many things that Shibuya could not see. Lord von Bielefeld was a friend, was a noble and loyal soldier and servant, would be, hopefully if Shibuya would open his eyes, be a lover and faithful companion and advisor. 

Murata’s eyes flickered back to Lord Waltorana. 

From another viewpoint, something the nobles cared far more for, Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld was the link to one of the most powerful lord’s in the kingdom. It was an alliance that the king needed, an alliance that would help keep his position strong. If the young lord’s happiness allied with Shibuya’s, then Lord Waltorana von Bielefeld would do everything in his not-inconsiderable power to keep both of them safe. And everyone but Shibuya knew it. A broken engagement would have far more repercussions than one young broken heart. 

The rumours about the elder lord’s sterility had become more persistent lately. The lord had a number of mistresses he frequented and none of them had fallen pregnant. It would explain why the Lord had not married, and why he’d invested so much in his nephew’s fortunes. Murata suspected it was only Shibuya’s visible neglect that had stayed any announcement of who his heir would be.

Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld’s future was already set. It was only a matter of time.

Murata didn’t believe in coincidences. Shinou’s hand was all over this. It was far too convenient that Shibuya had managed to bumble his way into getting engaged to the only viable heir of the Bielefeld clan and Shinou’s descendent. Just like it had been convenient that Murata had found himself at the same middle school as Shibuya. 

In all likelihood, Lord von Bielefeld’s destiny had been decided before he was born. 

_I was born to guide you, Shibuya. You were born to rule, and Lord von Bielefeld...he was born to love you._ How could something like that be so incredibly comforting and sad at the same time?

Murata sighed. As soon as this was over, he’d need to have a long talk with Shibuya about his responsibilities and the impact of his choices. The time for gentle handling was over. Either that, or Murata would have to reconsider his role. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d played puppet-master. If Shibuya couldn’t be a true leader, then Murata would make it seem like he could, and Shibuya would be none the wiser, could play his games of justice and equality to his heart’s content completely oblivious that he’d only be a symbol. Murata sipped his wine and resisted the urge to squeeze the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want things to come to that. Murata was so weary of playing shadow king, would find no joy in it. He wasn’t like Shinou who enjoyed playing with his toys.

The dance continued, the waltz coming to a close, and Murata continued to scan the crowd.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Murata sing-songed under his breath as he looked over the circle of the masked crowd watching the Maou’s dance. He wanted this over quickly.

His gaze settled on Lord von Rochford with a young thing next to him, looking clearly out of her depths. Her eyes were big behind her mask as she regarded the Maou, awestruck. _Now that’s unusual._ Rochford had a clear appreciation for pretty young things and wasn’t fussed on pedigree in his private affairs, but he’d always been particular with keeping his partners at official events strictly of the nobility, and not just any nobility, but only purebred mazoku members of the ten aristocratic clans who ruled the kingdom. Rochford was a snob and bigot of the first order. So Murata couldn’t imagine why he’d pick this event, the most important one of the year, to bring along a girl who was clearly of peasant stock and new to court. Rochford was never that crass.

Very odd, and odd wasn’t good tonight.

Lord Weller had also noticed and was cautiously circling around behind the girl and for a moment their eyes met across the crowd. Murata inclined his chin towards Rochford and Weller scratched his right ear in acknowledgement. That was also the signal for Bielefeld’s guard to prepare themselves.

Maybe this could be sorted with minimum loss of life.

Later, when things went to hell, Murata would berate himself for falling for such an obvious decoy.

~***~

“Your life…my world…forever, that be true,” he sang softly to himself and then took a small sip from his wine glass. His sharp eyes never left the striking royal couple waltzing in the center of the dance floor. Women in vibrant, floor-length gowns and men dressed in their finery seemed to float around them—a dream within a dream.

The music was growing, building, rising.

Wolfram casually weaved within the crowd, mixing in with it when he could and easily fading from the sight of people he knew. He continued to hum the waltz in a lonely voice and, then, when he found an isolated spot against the wall, he continued drinking—or, at least, he appeared to be. Rubbing his thumb against the rounded edge of the glass, he sang the refrain under his breath: 

You are my comfort and my cares

And after my days are done –  
Know in my heart you’re dear to me–  
That you’re my only one.  
Reach out and take my hand, dear heart,  
With a kiss, these words are true:  
Glad I am my soul was first to depart  
Live, I could not without you.  
“Oh, my. Come see our maou,” a middle aged mazoku prattled as she ambled by, adjusting her tangerine-colored mask. “He is dancing so wonderfully this evening! A pity I’m not a few hundred years younger… _the offers_ I could make to him back in my youth.” Then, she giggled behind her open fan. “I suppose that’s a task, now, that I can leave to my oldest daughter, Isabelle.” 

The woman’s companion, dressed in marigold, gushed, “Yes! Yes!” A devious chuckle was shared between them this time, heads together. “She was formally introduced to the maou, you know, at the last dance.” A brief pause followed by a gossipy, “Oh, really? Tell me more” before their voices were washed away by the song.

“Yes, tell me more,” Wolfram parroted sardonically, darkly. He gripped his glass harder and actually took a real sip of his drink—still watching his fiancé dancing and having what appeared to be a wonderful time. “All these years,” Wolfram growled to himself, “I’ve been pushing Yuuri to dance with me and then he… _that guy_ …persuades him to do it.” 

Wolfram could feel his heartbeat pick up in anger as Yuuri closed the gap between them and whispered what seemed to be an amusing, private joke. “What is he doing now?” Wolfram growled louder between clenched teeth and caught the attention of an elderly male Mazoku with large age spots on his balding head. He tottered over with his cane in one bony hand and put his tarnished ear trumpet up to his ear and said in a raised voice, “Eh? Sorry, I can’t hear over the music, sonny. TOO LOUD!”

Wolfram nervously glanced around him and then waved the old gent off. There was no point in drawing attention to himself over something like this. He would not be the one to ruin this plan. The ex-prince, instead, continued on his way, weaving slightly to give the impression he was tipsy and found another convenient place alone by the wall to prop himself up against. 

He allowed for a minute or so to pass and then, at the first opportunity, Wolfram quickly splashed the entire contents of his drink into the nearest potted plant. Then, with that done, he made a return trip to the wine table. And, as luck would have it, he was able to trade his empty glass for a freshly poured one without missing a beat.

The couple was still waltzing as “Your Life, My World” faded into the next song, and more couples entered the dance.

This time, the fire wielder’s eyes widened as he watched his fiancé. He could hear him—actually _hear him_ —laughing over the music followed by a slight stumble and a hug.

_How dare Yuuri touch that imposter like that?! His hand is inching lower and lower on his back! The cheater! They’re dancing too close! Too close!_ Wolfram made a fist at his side as the couple smiled openly and continued to whisper to each other at each opportunity. _They’re dancing practically chest to chest! They’re implying that they’re already sleeping together._ Wolfram’s thoughts raged on as he clenched his teeth together, making his jaw sore.

More sounds of mirth breaking into his thoughts. So unwelcome, such a miserable thing to withstand.

Green eyes swept the room, noting the romantic smiles beaming from the onlookers on the edge of the dance floor. “How adorable” was being said from serving staff as they passed to and fro.

_Why? Why is everyone in the room believing this?_ The ex-prince wanted to cry in frustration. _Yuuri hates dancing with me…being with me….touching me. But with him…?!_ Something cold ran through Wolfram. _Why couldn’t he dance for half the song and just let go? Why doesn’t he look like he hates it…like he does with me?_ The blond felt wronged and abandoned. He wanted to grab dim Yuuri by the collar and shake him until he realized.

But, of course, he couldn’t.

_This is so unfair! After all I’ve been through…_

“The wimp,” and then he took a large sip of his fresh drink, feeling the strong burn of the alcohol down his throat.

The burn.

Instinct made Wolfram want to call up his element—to scorch something. To make it char. He felt a flare in his chest, in his heart. 

But, no. He had to calm himself down for his sake and for Yuuri’s. _Everything is going according to plan,_ he told himself. And, for once, he wasn’t being tossed aside because Yuuri wished it. And, at least, this time, there were no annoying girls from the noble families following Yuuri around wishing to “be friends” with him. What an idiot Yuuri always was for buying into that “friends” speech that the girls used to get close to him. They always wanted something more, but the double black was usually too clueless or too careless with his clumsy responses to notice what they were really asking.

Yes, keep telling himself those things.

Lie to himself—that this didn’t hurt so much. He could take it if it was him after all. Being second place or even last place in Yuuri’s heart was better than nothing; it was better than zero.

Wolfram put his glass to his lips and turned away casually when Gwendal passed by with Anissina on his arm. “You always told me that emotional ties between people were useless and only caused pain. And then, in the next breath, you’d tell me that I should never grow up to be just like you,” Wolfram said to himself, his words melancholy. He swirled the drink while watching their backs. _No matter the mask you wear, Gwendal, you are you underneath it. And I am me._ The blond tilted his head slightly to the side in thought. _I cannot change._

Green eyes sought out Yuuri again. “Look at the man who has my face, Yuuri. Do you know the expression you’re wearing right now? Do you?” He shook his head slightly in disbelief. “You’re so happy…incredibly so. And I’ve never done that for you…not even once.”

He smiled sadly to himself. “I’m incapable of it.”

Wolfram looked at his reflection in his drink—a distorted view of a blond man in a plain mask, not the richly designed or ornamented thing that he would have chosen for himself if he could.

He had fallen so low.

How had his life come to this?

He watched the ebb and flow of people—a blur of colors and mirthful sounds. Then, his eyes caught upon another familiar face. It was Conrad this time. And he seemed to be walking with purpose at the opposite side of the ballroom.

_Strange._

Wolfram frowned to himself and tried moving forward, looking right and left—attempting to join his older brother. But, very soon, he realized that he could not head there directly. The crowds were so thick by this time and not everyone walked at the same pace when they bothered to go anywhere. Annoying little cliques would suddenly stop to chat. “My! It has been ages. How is your little son?” and a “Not so little anymore. Join us in some sweets?”

Wolfram pruned his mouth in annoyance as he, yet again, had to suddenly stop and move in another direction to avoid more guests. Wolfram stood on tiptoe briefly, trying to get a better view. What was going on? It had something to do with Lord Rochford and some person he didn’t even remotely recognize. 

_If Conrad isn’t by Yuuri’s side, or not waiting in the wings, then this is definitely not good._

Wolfram found that he had no other option. He would have to take the long way around to the opposite side of the Grand Ballroom. And each step was taking forever, in his opinion—trying to be discreet and, at the same time, avoiding the guests who had more than just a little too much drink in them. Three rowdy von Grantzs, thick arms slung around each other’s necks, were singing a bawdy song which had nothing to do whatsoever with the current tune of the waltz which was playing. Sidestepping them wasn’t easy. The ornate grandfather clock counting down to midnight was standing there, too. And if that weren’t enough, he’d nearly collided with the tall, beveled glass and wood timepiece the second he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Yuuri was still safe. Then, Wolfram frowned at himself, his own negligence, and continued on.

No mistakes. He couldn’t make any careless ones.

Not now.

Fortunately, everyone else’s attention was still on the party, the drinks, and the food. Wolfram continued his lone stroll next to the wall. He would see what Conrad was up to and, at the same time, better position himself to protect Yuuri.

People standing closely to Conrad were starting to stop and take notice for some reason. And one of them was… “Waltorana,” Wolfram said to himself, recognizing his uncle. “So, you’re here, too. I thought you would be.” And then he spotted another blond wearing a mask who stopped himself by mere inches from bumping into him when a jolly, portly mazoku barreled in from behind nibbling on a strawberry tart.

_Who is that?_ Wolfram thought, eyebrows narrowing. _He’s not one of my men. Only half of them are blond. And of them, even in a mask, I could tell who it was._

Wolfram watched the blond back away as though Waltorana was a social pariah —very suspicious behavior for anyone in the House of Bielefeld. They all wanted to be on good terms with him. They all had an insatiable need to be in his good graces which was why they practically fawned over him daily by letter and in person—not that Waltorana discouraged the attention in the slightest. He relished it with “modesty.”

Slicing a look left and then right, the stranger in the expensive blue and silver mask strolled away with his hands in his pockets.

“The shape of the mask covers too much of his face,” Wolfram complained as he followed. “I wish I could see more.” 

As Wolfram shadowed the guest, he noted the posture, manners, and gait. As Günter was fond of saying, one could always tell good breeding even at a distance. Yes, manners mattered—especially in the House of Bielefeld where appearances were valued.

_A relative of mine? Not likely. Not only have I met them all, this person lacks a certain something…a quality that all “Bielefelds” share as a family._ Wolfram frowned and narrowed his eyes in the young man’s direction. _He’s “wrong” somehow._

The stranger was about to take a step and blend into the crowd when Wolfram reached out. He tried to take his forearm-- intending to hold him still in a snug, firm grip. 

The figure turned abruptly at this attempt. Without a doubt, he’d attracted the man’s attention. For now, that was enough, Wolfram decided. He would be the one to deal with the situation, get answers. “Good evening,” Wolfram said with an authoritative air about him. The stranger’s eyes widened at him—not in surprise, though, but something more akin to that of a wild animal’s response. Anger. Rage was there, too.

_Why?_

Wolfram watched him closely. It was instinct.

“I would like to discuss something with you… _cousin,”_ Wolfram told him as his face grew harder. Now that they were up this close, he was certain that this person was no cousin of his. But he would play this little game for appearance’s sake. “So, remove your mask.”

An amused chortle. “Remove it? This is the Fertility Ball, you know. Everyone is in a mask. It adds to the mystery…the eroticism…the ‘births’ on many levels.”

“Do it,” Wolfram ordered in a monotone. “We’ll talk quietly over there in the back.” He nodded his head in the appropriate direction, indicating it. He, then, began to escort him to the more out of the way place (and the farther away from Yuuri the better). 

The blond man’s smile turned greasy. “I am quite happy to, _cousin._ But I seem to be at a loss,” he replied humbly as he glanced around him. “If you would oblige me, maybe, by leading the way? You are nobility after all. Rank has its privileges.” A small, polite bow followed.

“I think I’ll give that honor to you,” Wolfram countered suspiciously. “And remember, even if we are in public, know I’m watching you.” 

The crowd thinned out near the back. And no sooner did Wolfram step to the side to get a better view when he felt a sharp blow to his stomach—making him double over. A quick and hard strike to the jaw. Then, Wolfram fell backwards against the nearest wall, by another large potted plant, and was held in place by an inexplicably strong, gloved hand at his throat. 

Barely holding onto his senses, half-conscious, Wolfram gaped down at the hand strangling him. _Planetary symbols_ … He struggled for a breath. Something else there inked on the glove in a thin, light scrawl… _Something…?_ Green eyes widened slightly. 

_Words..._

_It has to be._

Wolfram’s lips moved, asking “Why?”

The blond man had him pinned, crushing his windpipe, and was reaching into his inside coat pocket.

“I’ve been watching you, too. And I’ve seen your face too many times in too many worlds,” was rasped maliciously in Wolfram’s ear. “Say ‘goodbye’…fool…” the stranger laughed, “or did you not realize we have the same _voice?”_ He emphasized the last word as though that, alone, could deliver the final blow.

Wolfram’s eyes widened as he saw the flash of a small blade. Yes, he had been foolish.

Incredibly so.

~***~

It really didn’t take long for Yuuri to fall into the rhythm of the dance. In spite of Yuuri‘s protests, once the double black let go of his fears he was quite a good dancer, still room for improvement of course, but he wasn’t bad at all.

It was easy to let go into the moment. No troublesome thoughts, no pain, no sadness. It was just him in the arms of another whose presence was so familiar and comforting. Sage von Spitzweg knew he would pay for it later, but he was glad he’d taken the potent painkiller. It only hastened the inevitable by a little bit, and it was a necessary sacrifice.

The music couldn’t go on forever though, nothing stayed still. Time flowed forever on. Didn’t he know that better than anyone? 

The last notes faded away, and Yuuri stood. His eyes closed, and he opened them and gave him a sheepish smile.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

A question that wasn’t answered. Yuuri’s eyes were looking over his shoulder.

“This is _most_ ill-mannered. Is this how the Maou treats his guests?” came the voice of a, most regrettably, familiar voice.

Sage Wolfram turned to see Lord Rochford glaring at Conrad. Both of them were the same height and build, and Rochford looked livid. “I see he’s not changed in this world,” Wolfram said under his breath, and he held fast to Yuuri’s hand to stop him from leaving.

Yuuri gave him a sharp look of annoyance. “Wolfram?”

“Stay here.” Even to his own ears he sounded worried and at least for a moment, Yuuri looked set to obey.

Sage Wolfram looked at the crowd that was forming around as Rochford continued haranguing Conrad. Next to him, a young girl visibly trembled, her eyes on the floor and one hand white-knuckled gripping onto Rochford’s sleeve. None of them looked threatening and nobody was paying any heed to the maou, not when there were more interesting things to gawk at. But, for some reason, the situation didn’t feel right and Wolfram never ignored his instincts. He stepped closer to Yuuri, and placed one arm around his waist protectively and said in his ear. “It’s not safe.”

“But...the girl, she’s-“

“Look,” he pointed, interrupting. The crowd melted aside to allow the Chancellor through, followed by a worried looking Günter. “Gwendal will take care of it.”

Wolfram looked around again. He’d take Yuuri to the wine table, there Yozak would-

“You dare to order me around? You have no authority over me, _human_.” Rochford said the last word, voice laden with revulsion. Thankfully, Wolfram knew Conrad wouldn’t rise to the insult. His brother was never one to take insults so personally and certainly not in a way to embarrass Yuuri at a State Ball.

He gently pushed Yuuri toward the drinks table.

There was a gasp, and he looked over to see that Rochford had raised the back of his hand menacingly, a backhanded strike, even the threat of one was a calculated insult, only fit to discipline indentured servants, if that. What was Rochford thinking? Did he want to force Conrad into a duel? The man couldn’t be that stupid. He’d be terribly outclassed in a fight against Lord Conrad Weller. Most anyone would.

“Don’t be absurd,” Gwendal bellowed and grabbed at Rochford’s elbow before the blow would fall.

What followed afterward fell into what would have been an amusing farce, if the stakes weren’t so high. The glass of red wine that the young girl clutched so desperately fell onto her front, splashing down her cleavage and corset as Gwendal and Rochford struggled.

The poor girl grabbed her chest tightly as the glass crashed to the floor, stopping the struggle instantly, Gwendal still holding fast to Rochford’s elbow.

Gwendal muttered something, probably an apology, as he let go of Rochford’s elbow. Günter, in a stroke of bad timing, came from behind her and dabbed her cleavage with a kerchief. The girl erupted into a piercing scream and then promptly fainted.

~***~

He had to force back a smirk, didn’t he? “Now, here’s an unexpected turn of events.” Murata’s black eyes flicked away from Lord Rochford and his unconscious wine-drenched companion who was, even now, being fanned by Günter with a purple-stained, lace handkerchief. They would have to move the girl somewhere to recover, obviously. Murata didn’t care where and continued to tap his foot in time with the music.

A woman’s moan got his attention back. Poor Günter had to lift the girl in his arms when Lord Rochford refused to do it. She’d ruin his outfit, apparently.

_Such fun._

He put the wine glass to his lips. Over his drink, the sage locked eyes with Sage Spitzweg at the center of the dance floor and felt some relief to see Yuuri there, too, by his side.

Murata took in the expressions of those around him. Then, he turned his head casually and scanned the rest of the ballroom—taking note of anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small. It was in Murata’s nature to look in directions where other people were not—especially during times of trouble. Sometimes, a loud distraction could hide a world of sins.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an odd, leaf-shaking movement by a large, potted plant, and his head swivelled in that direction. Two blond mazokus in the very back of the room must have been fighting. If they had been of the von Grantz family, it would have been nothing. They were notorious. But judging by build, hair and clothing color, they appeared to be of the House of Bielefeld, and he quickly recognized Wolfram’s fancy dress costume and mask. The almost identical person in a blue and silver mask, Murata most certainly _did not_ recognize.

More struggling. More movement.

Wolfram’s mask hit the floor.

Another shove between them.

Wolfram abruptly raised his arm and blocked. His coat sleeve slashed open. Something small and metallic spun into the air between them.

No mistaking it.

“It’s him,” Murata gritted, walking briskly from his assigned position toward the back of the room, the second he witnessed Wolfram had been taken by the throat using only one impossibly powerful hand. Murata’s eyes widened as he saw the other hand as it flexed violently with jerking movements. The nails tore through an ink-stained white glove and curved into thick, black raven claws.

Struggling for breath, Wolfram plucked up his courage and made an effort to free himself. But his attacker only laughed in his face—a grin unusually wide, taking pleasure in Wolfram’s pain. Then Wolfram’s body was flung back into the wall. And, almost immediately, the blond captive’s knees buckled beneath him. He was held up by his collar only long enough to rake the clawed hand across his chest, shredding the fabric at a diagonal. 

Wolfram’s head jerked back, mouth open.

“Damn,” Murata breathed as he caught glimpses of Wolfram being pulled roughly toward a narrow back doorway which connected to a private servant’s hallway—a direct link to the Royal Kitchen. 

_Is he trying to escape, or is he hiding the body?_

Eyes locked on, Murata kept going. He would get answers—delay, if he could, until the others would take notice and join him.

“And where is the man who is supposed to be guarding that door?” Murata demanded aloud as he picked up his pace.

There were hard footsteps practically on his heels now, and Murata didn’t need to glance over his shoulder--feeling a strong, familiar aura behind him. He knew. “You saw it, too?” he asked as he skip-hopped past a quartet of clumsy drunks reeking of wine and good cheer.

“I saw you and put ‘two and two’ together,” Sage Spitzweg said to him, struggling to keep up. 

“Shibuya?”

They dodged another guest.

“I told him to stay where he was and not to move until Conrad joined him.” The blond practically stomped on Murata’s heel in his hurry. The shoe almost came off, and they both stumbled slightly. Sage Spitzweg added sarcastically, “So, I take it… it’s this guy!” He pointed ahead.

A nod and onward.

Each step a delay.

Each movement a turn or a weave.

Stopping.

Running—but only a step or two.

Shards of a broken wine glass. Splatters of blood on the floor. Wolfram’s body sagging, head down, and an arm being dragged over the lithe man’s shoulder, as though he were a drunk to be disposed of. 

A hand reaching out.

The exit door was half open now.

Wider, wider.

Wolfram’s feet being dragged across the marble floor.

And, then…

“I wouldn’t do that!” Sage von Spitzweg ordered the masked man. He was now holding the small dagger that had been lying on the floor. With a twist, the blond sage made the blade turn with a flash. “Put him down…now!” And almost lazily, the man faced them, still carrying his burden—Wolfram’s arm still slung across his shoulder. The ex-prince’s left wrist was leaving blood splatters on the floor.

Instead of “fear,” as Murata had anticipated, they met with a lopsided, “you got me” smile. He shook his head freely and the blue and silver mask fell from his face, now resting around his throat with silk ribbons tied neatly in a bow. 

The face. It was Wolfram’s and it was Sage von Spitzweg’s—three. Together, they could have easily been mistaken for triplets. 

“Hello, again,” the man said, highly amused. His hard, emerald eyes almost danced in recognition. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” There was such a sexy drawl to the voice. So pleased.

“Give up. You’re through.” Sage Spitzweg seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Murata noticed that immediately. But, to himself, Murata wondered if it would be that easy. 

He guessed not.

And he was right. A full, pleasant smile this time. The man lifted the clawed hand in a contemplative sort of way and seemed to admire the ragged remains of the ink-stained glove. And when that quickly ceased to please him, he picked at the remnant threads of Wolfram’s costume from his curved fingertips as almost an afterthought. There wasn’t an ounce of remorse or regret. 

“The last time I saw you in the flesh, you mistook me for Yozak. Remember that?” A nostalgic chuckle. “You were duped there for a while, too.” Funny. It was so funny—more amusing by the second. Then, he laughed out loud. “You should have seen the look on your face when you realized.”

An unwavering frown in return. “Like I said, it’s time to give up.”

A groan and Wolfram struggled to lift his head. His tired eyes opened and he seemed to be taking in his surroundings with a hard squint—trying to piece together where he was and what was happening to him. Murata felt relief when the blond murmured a soft, graveled “Geika?”

Murata made a lunge at the limp body and managed to take Wolfram back, but he suspected that the man really didn’t wish to hold his captive any longer anyway. 

Wolfram continued to struggle to come to his senses. But it was slow going. Murata noted Wolfram teetering despite his best efforts and put an arm around his waist to steady him. “Put your arm around my neck and no arguments,” Murata told him and found that Wolfram obeyed immediately. 

Sometimes, giving orders as The Great Sage had its perks after all. Though it didn’t hurt that Wolfram had been conditioned to obey orders. ‘Quality’ academy training at its finest.

Wolfram put a hand to his aching throat and glared ahead. He didn’t like losing a fight any more than he liked being rescued.

The blond sage ripped off his mask so that he could see his enemy better. He had been waiting for so long to confront him. “It doesn’t matter what my face looks like…or yours. It’s over now.”

A noncommittal hum. “What you ‘look like,’ huh?” He arched a blond eyebrow. “Now, that’s an interesting topic, isn’t it?” The note of sarcasm couldn’t be missed. “Tell me, Sage von Spitzweg…my other ‘self’… What is your beauty secret? How do you keep looking so… _good?_ So _together_ …?”

_That’s bizarre._ Murata turned to the man next to him, wondering. Sage Spitzweg’s face held an unreadable expression.

_Why is he…_? and Murata pushed his glasses up with a finger.

“I thought so,” followed by a devious chuckle. “You don’t want to tell?” The clawed hand changed in color to mazoku pale skin and the nails began to shrink to something short and neatly trimmed. He wagged a finger at Murata and the blond sage. “Naughty, naughty,” he sing-songed. “That’s just like… _us_ …is it not? Or, is it?” He taunted with, “Nice rings, by the way…not my taste, though” in Sage Spitzweg’s direction. This was followed by an impertinent arms akimbo stance.

Defiance.

Wolfram, his body still aching, turned his head painfully to look at Murata. “What’s he talking about? I don’t understand.”

“Well, that’s logical,” the man told Wolfram as he toyed with the expensive mask around his neck. “And why is that? Because you are the dumbest one here,” he said snidely. “A proper education would have done you some good instead of waving that pathetic ‘tin soldier sword’ around.” He went on with, “Oh, and did you know that in the mazoku tongue the words for ‘wine’ and ‘blood’ come from the same root word meaning ‘red water’?” A sharp grin. “You would have had you bothered to study anything. Oh, no. That’s right. You’re not _a sage_. I keep forgetting.”

“I want to kill him,” Wolfram gritted out painfully between clenched teeth, leaning more heavily on Murata than before.

“Not in your condition” was quipped back in a whisper only Wolfram could hear, making him tense up in anger. But that made Murata stop and pause. _The strength and the flawless, effortless transformations back to normal. Something’s definitely not right here…_

“We don’t need a lesson on etymology. We’re taking you in, Spitzweg” the blond sage promised him, turning to signal to the front of the room to get Lord von Voltaire, Yozak, and Weller. Crowding around their soon-to-be captive was probably blocking their view, Murata guessed.

“Yes, I am you…in a sense…and you are me. We are both ‘Spitzwegs’ and sages…beloved of Shinou, like it or not…the Masters of Lies and the Keepers of Knowledge.” He leaned closer, taunting the blond sage. “And, sometimes, we know _bad things_ , don’t we?”

“Bad things?” Wolfram parroted to Murata in a whisper. “He’s insane.”

Murata’s eyes flicked to the shredded remains of the man’s white glove. The inked writing on the glove was dark alchemy, dark magic. That explained how he was able to attack Wolfram--to be able to touch him, and with such violent force.

“Well?” Wolfram demanded.

Murata couldn’t meet eyes with him now, even though they were so close.

“So many toys to play with in this room,” the man chuckled, admiring the sights around him. “With my skills, I could have my fill just by running with my claws open…but Yuuri Heika wouldn’t like that.” He looked sincerely at Wolfram. “Starting with you was fun, but, I think you know what I’m really after. What I really want.” He folded his arms against his chest. “And I am so much better than you.”

Wolfram openly scowled this time. “In your fantasies!” Then, he gripped his aching throat. It still hurt so much.

“Fantasies! Yes, you managed to get an idea into that empty little head of yours.” He tugged at his blue and silver mask in a distracted way, almost dreamily. “I’ve searched so far and for so long to find a world like this. And it is the perfect one.” A dark chuckle and then he gestured to everything around him, arms swinging wildly. He was so amused. “Everything in order… everything easy.” He glanced around himself as though it were his home, a place where he belonged. “I came here earlier…just to see…just for fun…left a message in blood.” He cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t you see it?”

“He means Wallace,” Murata realized.

“Oh yes…. That pathetic little man…a necessary evil. It had to be done, you know.” A sudden look of challenge--a crafty one at that. “Do you want to know where another body’s buried?” Then a conceited shrug. “Or, maybe, I shouldn’t kiss and tell.”

Wolfram made a weak, pathetic lunge at him which Murata held back using most of his strength.

“Secrets and lies, my other self…secrets and lies,” the man teased and then looked to Wolfram. “You’re so feeble, though. Adorable eyes and hair… only a pretty doll…and even I know the rumors about you in the castle. Shibuya Yuuri is _a man in this world,_ and he can’t stand the thought of someone like you sharing his bed let alone his life.” Green eyes grew shifty. “In each world, the Great Sage and The Maou Spirit have an _insatiable_ attraction…if you know what I mean. So, let’s face it. You’re a failure…not even a sage. What a waste you are in this world. You’re filth.” Before the blond sage could jump in with a word of contempt, his counterpart added maliciously, “Wolfram von Bielefeld…not even fit to be the king’s whore. Beg all you want for him to take you, but he’ll still say ‘no.’” He stage whispered, “What a pity.”

Wolfram actually growled this time and Murata braced himself. He had to. His glasses flashed, disguising his eyes. “Don’t fall for it,” Murata ordered Wolfram, sensing the blond was about to have another go at the man they’d cornered. Fire would probably be involved next.

“Agreed,” the blond sage said, “don’t.”

“Yes, ‘don’t fall for it,’” the man whose features mirrored Wolfram’s teased back. “Then again, there are so many meanings to a sage’s words... So many things left unsaid.” He looked at Sage von Spitzweg, “Am I right? Are they sure that you’ve told them absolutely everything?” The hard green eyes turned to Murata with such delight. “Though, I’m sure you suspect a lot…and say very little, Ken Dearest.”

Wolfram forced himself to stand on his own two feet and Murata looked to him to see if this would be okay—or risky. Even though the ex-prince’s face was cast in shadow, bangs over his eyes, Murata could see enough of the expression to tell that there was now a seed of doubt in Wolfram. His shoulders stiff and his stance was defensive. He didn’t trust anyone around him and Murata knew it. That included him as well—not for the first time, either.

“Oi?” came a familiar voice, sending Murata immediately on the alert.

“Wolfram? You see, ummm…they want us to dance again before the clock chimes midnight and…” Yuuri’s black eyes widened with concern as he looked down and around him. He said with apprehension, “Oi, there’s broken glass here and… Is that blood on the floor?”

“Back off, Yuuri,” Wolfram said forcefully, upstaging him in a protective stance—shielding him with his body. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Wolf…” Yuuri said, his head turning, “there are three of you…”

~***~

He had lost Conrad somewhere in the crowd.

At the time, Yuuri knew that wasn’t a good idea, but he had to find “Wolfram”…Sage Wolfram. There was also an anxious sensation in his stomach and the nagging thought that he needed to check on Wolf as well.

“There are three of you…”

Even as he had babbled about the dance, he knew things were very wrong. He didn’t need Wolfram…ummm, _his_ Wolf throwing himself in front of him, bleeding, to know that.

Despite Wolf pushing him away, Yuuri wasn’t going anywhere. Not with Murata and Wolfram facing down…Wolfram?

That Wolfram, and it had to be the shape shifter, had glittering green eyes which settled on him, changing from something hard to soft. ”Yuuri?”

“Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who he is,” Sage Wolfram answered his question, his eyes never moving from the shapeshifter. _“He’s_ the assassin. He killed Wallace and he almost killed your fiancé...and is _dangerous._ Whatever he says, whatever he looks like, he’s a _monster._ ” Sage Wolfram’s voice was more somber than he’d ever heard him.

The shape shifting assassin didn’t appear to be a monster; he was looking back at him with those beautiful, wide green eyes. Just like his Wolf. That exact same look that had embarrassed him in the past, adoration and love…and…an almost desperate yearning that gave him a tearing feeling in his chest. How could anyone look like that and be evil? How could anyone pretend that easily?

“Yuuri.” This strange Wolfram took one step closer and immediately Wolf was in front of him, pushing him back with one arm.

“If you come any closer I’ll-” With a burst of light, a hot ball of flame settled in the palm of Wolf’s hand. Yuuri could feel the heat. It was scorching.

“Murata, what’s going on?” Yuuri asked, turning to the one person who was silent. Nothing felt right, and he had a feeling he needed to know everything, now.

Murata didn’t say a word as he inched his way around toward this pretend Wolfram who seemed to have forgotten anything else but Yuuri’s existence.

“He _claims_ to be the sage,” Wolf jumped in, his tone as blistering as the flame cradled in his hand. Yuuri knew that Wolf couldn’t keep up that level of heat for long, especially since he was hurt.

“Because I am,” the imposter replied calmly, eyes fixed--never moving from Yuuri. “And I came here because I love you.”

Wolf was trembling in front of him, and it wasn’t from nerves. Sage Wolfram hadn’t moved an inch, stance wary. Yuuri could only imagine that that was because this unsettling imposter with Wolfram’s face was much more dangerous than he looked. Murata, as quiet as a mouse, had now positioned himself behind the imposter. It would only be a matter of time before Conrad and his men came looking and then the odds being in their favour would be better. Thankfully, nobody in the ballroom had noticed the drama unfolding in the corner. 

“Have we met?” Yuuri said hesitantly, stalling for time. 

This Wolfram put one hand out imploringly. Next to him, Wolf twitched. “Many times, _many_ places. I _lost_ you, but now everything will be fine.” There was a single tear falling down one cheek. “I’m meant to be by your side. You said that to me once.”

Yuuri felt sick to the stomach. Was this imposter insane? He had to be. His words didn’t feel false.

“I…can’t remember.” Yuuri told him softly.

“Of course not. But you _know_ , don’t you? Feldwin, sifney lotz ak Maou.” 

“Don’t!” Sage Wolfram said angrily. “He’s _not_ ready for that!”

Yuuri’s heart sunk as he felt a stirring within, the Maou. The Maou was rising. He knew this feeling well, and the transformation was faster and stronger and more powerful than he’d ever felt before. _No. No. Not now!_ The Maou wasn’t listening to him; he never did. Yuuri closed his eyes--balling his hands into a fist, feeling the power surging upward, cold and burning. Perhaps, the Maou would save the day, but Yuuri didn’t want to go to that dark place the Maou relegated him to when he did, and he held on stubbornly. He held on with a desperation he’d never had before, digging his nails into his palm, the pain was his anchor, something to hold onto as the power swept through him.

“The Sage has called us.” The deep voice echoed in his head and he opened his eyes to find himself in utter blackness. In front of him, the Maou stood--the only thing in the void he could see. It was a little like looking into a mirror. But there were differences: the Maou’s hair was long, eyes bright and feline, hair, face and body enveloped by a fire of blue.

“The Sage has called us. The accord must be met,” the Maou informed him. And then flatly, “Let me through. You will not be harmed. I will shield your soul.” 

_What? What accord?_

“No. I need to stay. I can’t let you take over anymore. It’s my life, too.” Besides, Wolf needed him.

The Maou regarded him coolly, alien eyes giving him no clue as to what the Maou was thinking. Yuuri shivered, was this the spirit who lived inside him? Is that what people saw when the Maou took over? How frightening. How could anyone see the Maou as the good guy? He looked more like an evil demon from a horror story.

“Our bond cannot be broken.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Yuuri asked desperately. “I’m not asking you to leave. I just don’t want you to take over now.”

“I am bound to your soul within your corporeal vessel. We are one, yet separate. If your wish is to stay, you have to accept me. We must become one.”

“One? What do you mean? I _don’t_ understand.” It was like they were having two different conversations.

“Take my hand and you will.”

Yuuri put his hand out, and then he screamed as images and memories assaulted him.

~***~

“Yuuri!” Wolfram caught his fiancé as he fell. “Yuuri,” Wolfram shook him softly. There was fluttering behind the eyes. Yuuri was alive, but not responding. Blue flames were roiling around his body in agitation.

“Break the connection now.” 

“Wha-?” Wolfram looked up to see Sage Spitzweg advancing on the imposter, or so-called “sage.” He didn’t know what to believe. Not anymore.

“No,” the imposter said flatly. Though Wolfram was now starting to realize he was no imposter, but yet another counterpart of his. Was he really the only one who wasn’t a sage?

“You could kill him. You could drive him insane or worse. He’s had no training. He’s wholly unprepared.” The note of panic underlying the sage’s words frightened Wolfram. 

The imposter casually grabbed Murata as he attempted to pull a knife on him from behind. And then, with satisfaction, he forced him down on his knees in front of him, one hand around Murata’s throat. “Now now... I want to keep you alive for the moment. Be a dear, brother. Don’t struggle. Shinou can’t help you now.” With a touch of his finger on Murata’s forehead, the hands which were struggling against his grip fell to his sides. 

“Yuuri won’t die,” the imposter answered the blond sage, as if the disruption of Murata was nothing more taxing than swatting a fly. The imposter removed his hand from Murata Sage,who remained still on his knees. “This world’s sage might have been careless when it came to the accord, but it’s of no matter.” The imposter smiled in Wolfram’s direction, at Yuuri. “Yuuri is strong. He’s stronger than many I’ve come across, completely whole in body and mind. That’s why this world is perfect. That, and the fact that you,” the imposter brushed his hands through Murata’s hair,“...resisted.”

The blond leaned down and said in faux whisper against Murata’s ears, though his eyes were now on Wolfram himself, gleaming with a cruel light Wolfram didn’t like, and he held onto Yuuri tighter. “Was it because of Shinou?” The Imposter asked the lifeless double black sage conversationally. “No, I don’t believe so. Why did you resist, Ken? You had more opportunity than most of your counterparts to act. You practically grew up with him and yet, you resisted the call and let another take your rightful position as consort.” A chortle before uttering, “ _Fool.”_ He then straightened and looked down at Murata with an odd combination of pity and contempt. “You’re a fool because now your inaction has given me the opening I needed. Too bad. Your loss is my gain.” 

“You can’t get away with this,” Sage Wolfram said, trying to mask his worry. He sounded out of breath, he knew. Was the illness finally catching up with him? Now? The timing couldn’t be worse.

“Oh, I _will._ When Yuuri awakens, he’ll not let anyone hurt me. You are fading fast, I see, and beyond saving. Even with the things I’ve learnt, I can’t hold off my corrosion forever, but for the sake of my continued life here, this useless shell...” The imposter glanced at Wolfram indifferently. “...Will be destroyed. The Maou can’t ignore the accord. He will do what is needed.”

“And what about Yuuri?” Wolfram found himself asking, voice rising in anger. “Do you even care about him?”

~***~

The onslaught continued and Yuuri curled into a ball, as if that would save him. “No…” he whimpered. “No...” He felt like he was melting. The Maou was a giant next to him; he was being washed away, diluted by the crushing weight of the Maou’s existence.

He grabbed at a memory, one that shined amongst the others and instinctively buried himself in it as a refuge. 

They were in his office in the castle with Wolf. Though this Wolf was wearing black, just like the sage. 

No, this was no memory of his.

“Then, Günter fell flat on his face! You should have seen the Grand Duchess’ face as he tried to apologise.” Wolfram was chuckling as he recounted the story and Yuuri, his mind blended into this “Yuuri,” laughed. 

There was a spike of pain and he stopped--clutching at his chest--a gasp and then he gritted his teeth hard from the agony of it. This was a familiar pain, though it never stopped being scary. 

“Yuuri,” Wolfram came around and held onto Yuuri’s hand as the pain gradually passed. “I’ll call Gisela.”

“No, just sit near me. She can’t do anything anyway.” Wolfram looked set to protest but pulled the chair over and sat down and held onto Yuuri’s hand. He then kissed him on the lips, gentle and reassuring. It was nice, comforting. “You’ll come with me when I have the surgery on Earth?”

Wolfram nodded. “Yes. Though, I don’t know why you don’t accept the Maou. He can heal your body if you let him. You wouldn’t need to get a new heart. You won’t have to be ill any longer.”

“I don’t want to change yet, Wolf. I just…let me be me for a little longer? If I have to die, I want to die as me.”

“You _won’t_ die,” Wolfram protested. 

“Wolf, I could. I’ve told you before. There are no guarantees.”

“Then I’ll change all of fate to find you again. We were meant to be together, remember? You said. I won’t let anything take you away from me.” Yuuri held fast to Wolfram. He wished he could say something reassuring, but he couldn’t lie. This was something he’d had to deal with all his life. Yuuri didn’t think he’d ever live long enough to find someone to love the same way his parents loved each other, being born with a weak heart. He was grateful for finding Wolfram, but terribly afraid as well. He didn’t want to leave Wolfram behind. Wolfram was one of the strongest people Yuuri knew, but he was also fragile, and he was terrified of how Wolf would take his death. Maybe, he should reconsider what Wolfram had proposed. But would he ever be the same? Wasn’t that just another form of death?

Dizzyingly, the perspective changed and he found himself watching from the outside as Sage Wolfram rested Yuuri’s head on his shoulder. This world’s Yuuri’s memories faded, but didn’t disappear. “That’s not me. That’s not my memory.” 

“Not in this linear reality,” The Maou said, and Yuuri looked to his dark twin. “This ‘sage’ is the one who calls us.”

“The third one?” Who wasn’t an imposter, wasn’t just a shape shifter. “But…he’s not the sage in my world. I never knew him.”

“I am not bound by this reality. All realities are mine; all memories are mine. As they will be yours.”

He let the words sink in, going cold at the thought. “So…I won’t just be getting the memories of this world, but all the worlds. I can’t do that. I’ll go crazy. I’m just an ordinary guy. I can’t…I _can’t_ do that.”

“That is the truth of our bond.”

In the back of his mind, he could feel the pressure of other memories.

“No. I can’t.” He clutched at his head and then took a deep breath, facing the Maou as the study dissolved around him and the void returned. “There must be another way. Can’t you just tell me what I need to know? Can’t we work together like a team? We don’t have to be the same to work together.”

“What is a team?”

~***~

“Do you even care about him?”

Yuuri stirred beneath him, and his eyes opened. Not Yuuri’s beautiful black eyes, but golden with slit-like pupils.

“Yuuri?”

The Maou pushed him aside, gently. Injured as he was, Wolfram still managed to get himself to his feet as the Maou stood--a little taller than Yuuri, hair long and body glowing with a pulsing blue. 

“Yuuri?” Wolfram called again, but the Maou ignored him as he walked towards the other Wolfram. The imposter who wasn’t.

“You called for me, Sage?”

_This_ Wolfram lurched a couple of steps forward. “Yuuri?” His hand reached out and clutched at the front of the black jacket. “I’m here. Do you remember?”

Battered and still bleeding from his injuries, Wolfram watched--heart sinking as the Maou reached out and caressed the other’s cheek. “I have those memories.”

“I found you.” The impostor's voice broke and slowly, almost hesitantly, this Wolfram wrapped his arms around the Maou, around Yuuri, and buried his head in his jacket.

Whatever power that the imposter had over Murata was lifted as Murata sluggishly got to his feet. Wolfram felt numb, unable to look away. In the background, he could hear boots. Conrad had arrived. Too late. He felt like lying down and never rising again.

“I have his memories, but I’m not who you seek,” The Maou said, sounding strangely sorry. The Maou never sounded like that before. He sounded… He sounded like Yuuri.

The impostor's back stiffened and he pulled away, a look of total despair on his face. Wolfram almost felt sorry for him.

“But you are! You were there. You were there. The Maou is everywhere across all worlds!” This Wolfram’s voice broke, and he started to shake. “It’s _you._ It must be.” There was a note of hysteria in the imposter’s voice as tears started to stream down his face.

“No, the one who loved you the most is gone. I was only an observer.” 

An observer? 

“No…” The imposter shook his head violently. _“No!”_

The Maou took one step forward, hand out and then dropped it. “Sorry…”

The look of despair changed, becoming frenzied instead. His eyes were wild. “You _have_ to accept me. No matter what you say. I _am_ the sage,” with a blue blur, Wolfram found cold steel against his throat. “And when I kill him, and the double black sage – I’ll be yours. I’ll be the only one left.”

The sword crashed before him onto the marble. “You can’t hurt him.” Wolfram turned to find the Maou--one arm pulling him away.

“If you let him live... I _die.”_ This Wolfram cried.

Before the Maou could respond, the imposter pulled free and turned to Murata. There was a manic look to his shifting eyes as he said hysterically, “You were reborn over and over for four thousand years.” He pointed to the Maou. “He was meant to be _our_ reward. Our consolation for all our suffering, for the sacrifice we made for this kingdom and Shinou. That’s why…that’s _how_ I kept going.” Shaking breaths followed. Then, this Wolfram’s voice fell--becoming flat, lifeless. “Life after life, after life... And then, in this life, once more, I was forced to search for him. I could have spent another four thousand years looking for him again. I would have done it gladly.” He laughed, the laugh ending in a sob, and he took another breath. “Maybe I have. I’ve lost count long ago. He died in my world. I couldn’t... I couldn’t save him. Yet, _you_ let him go. How could you?! How could you throw away something so precious when it was handed to you?!”

Murata looked directly into this imposter’s eyes. “Maybe, it is because I grew up with him. I never saw him as a consolation prize for my work. He’s not a thing to fight over. He’s my… he’s a friend who I love dearly.”

The third Wolfram shook his head and then turned to them. The manic look disappeared, becoming blank which Wolfram found more frightening. “I loved him too.” He turned to the double black. “I loved my Yuuri more than anything. That’s why…” He lifted his chin to meet eyes with him. Green eyes met black.

This imposter raised his arm, and without any more words or fanfare, slit his throat with his sharpened claw. The blood arced out, and Wolfram watched dully as it sprayed onto the clear marble. Nothing made sense anymore. He didn’t think it ever would.

Yuuri’s tortured cry was the last thing Wolfram heard before he lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

~***~

_To watch yourself die. To watch yourself take your own life. It’s the stuff of nightmares. How do you ever get over seeing that?_ Conrad wondered as Gwendal picked up their baby brother and took him away to the infirmary with an audience of onlookers, nobles and servants alike, observing with keen interest. But that, alone, was simple. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to pry Yuuri away from the blood soaked body of Sage Wolfram, the would-be assassin.

Cradling him in his lap. Rocking the body. Whispering soft words with his head down as the clock chimed midnight.

Yes, compassion for a killer. But, of course, Yuuri couldn’t see him that way—not without catching the blond in a violent act. All his godson could understand was what was before him, blocking everything and everyone else out.

And that face, that body looked so incredibly like Wolfram.

Conrad’s eyes took in the red-stained marble floor—part blood and part wine, shards of curved glass in jagged and brutal pieces smiling up at him. He had taken away the blond sage’s small blade as well. Apparently that, too, had once been a possession of their shape shifter. Gwendal had ordered him to search the body in the morgue after supervising this clean up—a grim task he was also not looking forward to. But it was necessary no matter what face the dead man wore.

_Nightmares._

Maybe, he would have them, too. Maybe, tonight would be a good night to invite Yozak over for some cards so that they could play and talk. Or, just talk and lay cards down…

“I’ve been talking to you this whole time, Lord Weller,” Waltorana von Bielefeld said hotly, “or do you intend to keep ignoring me?!”

“Oh?” He blinked. “My apologies,” Conrad returned diplomatically.

“I asked you about my nephew.” His eyes fell to the floor and he swallowed thickly but did his best to hide it. “Now, there were three ‘Wolframs’ here and one of them, most certainly, must be _my_ Wolfram.” He gripped Conrad’s shoulder sleeve for emphasis. “One is dead…obviously. One is severely ill. Just from looking at him, I could tell as Geika escorted him away. And the third was unconscious and had to be carried out of here by Lord von Voltaire.” He pointed to the door they all exited. “So, tell me,” and, for the first time, his voice shook slightly, “…is your brother alive or not?” He glanced over his shoulder at the guards who were still forcing people back. It was only through his demands to hear of news of his nephew and shouts at Conrad that made it possible for him to pass.

“I _need_ to know,” Waltorana insisted, almost at the point of babbling which was his way when terribly upset, “because the dead man’s blood had soaked into Yuuri Heika’s clothes and stained his skin… There were tears from our maou.” He shook his head in dismay. “Never have I seen him mourn in such a way.” He tugged his right earring nervously as he spoke. “And on such a night as this…an evening to celebrate…”

“What, in all of the Seven Hells, are you people doing?!” Lord Rochford bellowed to the room as he was roughly escorted away by green uniformed soldiers. The angry lord’s voice echoed menacingly as he resisted arrest, heels digging in. “I gave no one permission to touch me! Get your filthy hands off of me… _IMMEDIATELY_! I don’t care if you serve under that self-important Lord von Voltaire or not!”

Conrad turned back to Waltorana. “My brother is alive,” he said simply and watched the immediate relief flood the other man’s face. “You see, he was the one Gwendal took away.”

“That one…” Now, there were shaky nods and “Of course, of course… It makes sense…” in his typical, bossy way—as though he were in charge. Conrad decided to let him have that illusion for now. It was the easiest thing to offer.

“I want to see him.”

That was not a surprising request, but it was an inconvenient one to be sure. “Soon, certainly…but, he needs to be seen to at the moment, and you would be tired waiting for hours for him to wake. We can let you know when he’s able to see you,” Conrad suggested politely as he stepped aside for two visibly shaken maids burdened down with a dustpan, broom, mops, rags, and two buckets of water to begin their work. Brown eyes looked up again. “Of course, as a member of the Ten Noble Families, you’ll be briefed _thoroughly_ on this evening’s events at a later date,” Conrad said. “But since tonight has turned out… _in the way it has_ …which, I’m sure is exhausting…” He let that idea hang in the air for a moment. “Would you like for me to send you something warm to drink in your guest quarters?”

“Yes, an excellent idea,” Waltorana agreed with a hand resting on his hip. “A nice bottle of spiced wine would be exactly what I need…for my nerves.”

A thin smile. “Consider it done.”

And with some relief, the second son was more than content to watch Waltorana join his little group of von Bielefeld admirers and leave, telling them of his “intimate involvement in the investigation of this distasteful matter” while they ate up every word of gossip.

At least, that cleared the room a little.

Conrad made a gesture to a passing servant who was actually doing her job instead of standing around and the guards parted to let her through.

“Anything I can do?” came a voice at his side, a familiar one. It was Yozak holding a silver tray with empty drinking glasses on it.

“Could you see that Waltorana gets a bottle of wine in his quarters?” And, in a quieter voice he said, “We could meet later, too…if you’re free.”

A polite curtsey and the spy left.

Conrad watched Yozak effortlessly blend in with the crowd of onlookers. It was good to have him. They understood each other that well. They could convey so little and discern so much. It was an old man’s comfort, once he put some real thought into it. And, after tonight, he wondered how many decades he had added onto his soul.

The voices around him grew in volume and pitch. The crowd, simply standing there, began to sound unruly and Conrad turned to see that many of the nobles had come closer to where the guards were standing. A fist was shaken in the air. It was impossible to tell who it belonged to. “We demand to be informed!” one called from the back. “Yes, tell us what is going on here!” Women were saying behind their fans, “Were we in danger, too? Could that be it? They just don’t want to tell us,” and “We’re always the last to know.”

The politics of the court—how he hated playing that sort of chess.

Conrad straightened and approached a few paces. “My older brother, Lord von Voltaire, will return as soon as possible with the full intention of explaining what has occurred tonight.”

Well, actually, he probably wouldn’t do that much. There would be a carefully orchestrated story—with Günter’s help—which they were, even now, probably putting together. Most likely, it would highlight the involvement of the “mighty power of Shinou” and The Great Sage’s “extraordinary magic” to protect them all in a time of crisis while glossing over many facts for the sake of the peace of the kingdom. (Including diminishing Yuuri’s emotional public scene, if possible.) And, once hearing that, and stroking their egos, the noble classes would probably accept it.

“We ask humbly for your patience and all will become available to you.”

Well, it would…in a way. And, then, the real work would begin.

~***~

“You should have had your healer examine you, too, you know.”

The voice was weak.

“Well…” He picked up a pitcher and poured cool water into a matching blue and white porcelain cup. “I told Gisela that I don’t need her services…which happens to be true. She’s better off treating others who need her.”

There was a brief silence in the bedroom. It also had that distinct scent of a sick person. No matter how many lifetimes he lived, Murata could always detect it right away.

“How is Wolfram?” Sage Wolfram asked with a slight cough. The wheezing in his chest had started an hour ago and was growing stronger with each breath. The man’s hair had bleached itself to a strangely odd white-platinum mixed with ashy grey.

“He only fainted. An understandable reaction, don’t you think? So, everyone is fairly certain that Lord von Bielefeld will recover soon,” Murata explained while offering a sip of water. 

Sage Wolfram declined with a feeble wave of the hand. The jewels on his fingers appeared dull and the metal tarnished.

Murata put a small rag in a basin of water and wrung it out slightly. He placed it on the blond sage’s brow and dabbed at the droplets which fell. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Sage Wolfram asked, looking up at Murata with faded green eyes. Yes, they were sages—secret keepers—but nothing stopped them from sharing. This was especially true at the twilight of life.

“Hmmm?” He cocked his head to the side.

“This ring,” and he managed to lift a finger gently, “opens up and has a cameo inside…a profile of the one I love best…and always will.” He bit his lower lip slightly and then acknowledged, “It’s our fate as Geika to love our maou…deeply. In a way, I cannot blame our would-be assassin. And after the stress on the body of making so many jumps to so many worlds…I can understand the obsession.” He clenched his hand with the rings. “Love…desire…unfed yet just within one’s grasp… Rejection would be…” He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe…I, too, am no better…?”

Murata brushed stray strands of hair away from Sage Wolfram’s face. “Do you feel like sleeping?” he asked.

“A misdirection?”

Murata smiled in his usual way. “For your benefit, maybe?”

“I’d still rather talk.”

A sad shrug. “I’ll listen, then, for as long as you like.”

~***~

The meeting room they chose to use was as close to The Grand Ballroom as possible without being within earshot. Two guards were stationed outside with orders to let no one in.

At all.

With the notorious “von Voltaire stare” as an emphasis to the orders, the castle guards stood taller than usual and had saluted immediately.

“Where do we stand at the moment?” Gwendal said quietly to Günter. They had their heads together and were talking barely above a whisper. Guards, no matter how loyal, still had a tendency to gossip with spouses or lovers who sometimes worked within the castle. Not only that, but, in general, the walls had ears and echoes were inevitable.

“We have little time,” the adviser informed him, putting aside his usual melodramatic nature. “Nobles have a notorious habit of being impatient when it comes to news like this. And, should they get none, they’ll simply invent something to suit their tastes…making them either the victim or the victor.”

“Typical,” Gwenal acknowledged. “So, in terms of our ‘news’ to them…”

Günter thought for a moment and then began to write. He said, “I believe a statement like this would be well received: ‘Considering the importance of both the Fertility Ball as well as the esteemed guests in attendance, it was decided by the maou, his advisers, and The Great Sage that it would be necessary to heighten security to our highest standards in an effort to protect Shinou’s beloved people while under the ever watchful eye of our brave maou. This included the use of a body double for Lord von Bielefeld at some point during the festivities. And while such planning has proved to be beneficial in a myriad of ways, we do apologize for any inconveniences or concerns that may have been brought about in an effort to keep at bay any and all possible intimidations to the kingdom. Your support for the actions taken in the name of justice and your understanding at this particular juncture would be most appreciated. Thank you.’”

Gwendal wrinkled his nose and said, “Intimidations? It was more than that. The man was insane and an assassin.”

“A stronger word, then?”

A slow nod from Gwendal. Sometimes, Günter could be too soft when it came to descriptions. “Also, edit out the part about ‘ever watchful eye of our brave maou.’” When Günter looked as though he was going to debate him on that point, he added, “…Because several witnesses observed Yuuri Heika sobbing piteously with the bloody body of someone who looked strikingly like my brother in his arms.” His mouth became a thin line briefly and then he said, “Also, be prepared for questions like, ‘Is Lord von Bielefeld alive?’ with a look of disappointment in their eyes when we say ‘yes’ to that.”

With a flair of the quill, he scribbled some notations. “I have a question.”

“Yes,” Gwendal said.

“I understand that Lord Rochford’s…ummm… _lady friend_ …is in the infirmary. Do we need to keep her for questioning?”

Another nod. “Why not? Don’t you believe that every suspicious person at the ball should be interrogated? It is only reasonable.”

Günter scratched his head at that. “As you wish… Though, she seems to be the sort to know very little.” Yes, that was a nice way of calling her “uneducated.” Then he looked directly at Gwendal because that got him to thinking about something else. “Just curious, if she’s still in the infirmary where exactly is…?”

A twitched smile from Gwendal as he looked down to the floor. Several feet below them, in a dank and claustrophobic dungeon cell which smelled of rat urine on a good day, stood Lord Rochford on tiptoe with his face pressed to the narrow black iron bars at the cell window. He was livid, red in the face with veins sticking from his neck like tree roots. “RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME, I SAY! THIS PLACE REEKS OF A CODPIECE!” A fierce rattling of the bars and the solid door they were attached to got a pathetic kick. “YOU HAVE NOT HEARD THE LAST OF ME! HELLO?! HELLO?! IS ANYONE OUT THERE?!”

Bang!

Bang!

“OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR!”

~***~

Wolfram didn’t get the grace of a few moments of blissful ignorance as he woke. As soon as he opened his eyes, his chest was heavy with despair and the memories of what had happened before coming down on him only gave voice to that anguish.

_Yuuri._

Wolfram rolled on his side ignoring the pain of wound, it was only a scratch after all. He faced the familiar grey infirmary wall and covered his face, willing the tears to stop. He couldn’t stop the sob that broke forth. 

He thought...the thought that he could bear Yuuri’s rejection, could accept, in some way that Yuuri couldn’t love him. And, maybe, he would have...maybe, if the other sage hadn’t burst forth into their world, he could have gone on, serve Yuuri as a soldier, maybe one day as an advisor like Brother, let go of that prideful and selfish love he had. Serve the king with dignity.

It would have been bearable.

_“In each world, the Great Sage and The Maou Spirit have an insatiable attraction.”_

It wasn’t Conrad he ever had to worry about. It wasn’t the simpering, silly ladies at court. He thought of Yuuri dancing with the blond sage. The look Yuuri had in his eyes.

The assassin, his broken counterpart, had loved his Yuuri, and he had no doubt he was loved in return. Sage Spitzweg who had spent weeks with them had loved his own maou, Yuuki...and as for Geika, their double black sage, it went without saying, didn’t it?

_“...He’s a friend who I love dearly.”_

He thought of the assassin, pain so familiar to Wolfram all over his face before he had slit his throat. That moment, when the truth sunk in, his broken counterpart had lost all hope. He’d searched for so long all for naught. 

For nothing. For _nothing._

“At least, he loved you once,” Wolfram whispered quietly to himself. Would that have made it easier to lose Yuuri? That thought brought him a sharp pain in his chest that was unrelated to his physical pain and he sobbed again. The blood had spread so vividly red on the white marble floor. Yes, Wolfram could understand his actions.

Yuuri. Yuuri crying out in despair. He’d sound so broken.

But did you have to make Yuuri suffer? Why did you do that in front of him? Wolfram couldn’t forgive him for that. Maybe, he could understand...but he’d never...he’d never do that _in front of_ Yuuri and he’d never forgive his counterpart for that. If he could, he’d bring him back to life just to make him pay.

Wolfram squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breath; he wiped his eyes and then sat up, ignoring the dull pain of the injury.

“Stay still!” Gisela said firmly and pushed him back flat on the pallet. “The wound has only been closed up. You need at least one more day before it heals completely.”

“How long have I been here? What time is it?”

“You’ve been out about six hours. The sun has only just risen.” 

So, it was just barely the next day. Wolfram turned his head, looking across the infirmary. Only his bed was occupied. The other pallets were empty.

“Where is Yuuri? Is he...is he well?”

“He’s uninjured. He’s sedated now due to the shock; Lord Weller has taken charge and he’s in the royal suite.”

“And Geika?” He didn’t think he needed to specify which.

“He’s in his rooms. Our Geika is taking care of Sage Spitzweg.” 

The guest room. It was only on the next level. It wouldn’t take long to get there. He...needed to see for himself. _You are fading fast and beyond saving._ That’s what the third Wolfram had said. Was that true? Was he beyond saving? Could Wolfram do something? He couldn’t let Yuuri lose another sage, even if it wasn’t his own.

“Could you ask Brother to come see me?” he asked, trying to sound as pitiable as possible. It wasn’t that difficult. His sadness wasn’t faked.

Gisela frowned and nodded before leaving. 

Wolfram knew it would take time to pass that message on. He waited a few moments. Then, he got up, wincing slightly at the dull pain, and then he reached for his sword and jacket.

By the time he’d gotten outside Geika’s rooms, the pain had gone. He only felt a faint numbness. That probably wasn’t a good thing, but it wasn’t something he was overly concerned with.

The guard at the end of the hall paid him no heed. Now that the assassin had been apprehended, things had gone back to normal. At least for the castle’s staff. 

The outer door was unlocked, and he wandered into the main room. “Geika?” There was no answer. The room was empty. From the bedroom, he could hear murmuring and the door wasn’t closed.

He went over and then stopped just outside.

“I’ll doubt I’ll last the day.” That was his voice, the blond sage, sounding so very weary.

“The rings?”

“They could work...maybe, if I was at my full strength and with Lord von Voltaire’s assistance...but now...”

“You used the last of your strength for the ball.”

“Yes, I know. I’m an idiot. It was a wasted effort all things considered. I was afraid for him, wanted to keep him safe. Habit. I should have had faith that Yuuri would save the day. Yuuki always did.”

“They have a habit of doing that.” 

There was a grim pause and then a wet, gravelled cough that sounded painful, another moment before Sage Wolfram spoke again.

“I’m sorry that you made the deal with Shinou for no reason, dear.”

The double black sage laughed darkly. “He would have gotten his way somehow.”

“Yes, you’re right. But I’m sorry nevertheless. That’s the only thing I don’t regret about this life, severing ties with him. I hope you get the chance one day.”

Another pause. If Murata had an opinion on that, he never said. 

“It will get worse before it is over. Would it be selfish if I ask you to ease things...later? The pain I can handle, but I don’t want to die not knowing who I am.” He said a moment later, voice only shaking slightly, but otherwise calm.

So matter of fact, so casual. How could he be that way?

“You never had to ask,” was the double black’s response. 

There was another long pause and Wolfram thought about leaving. 

“I wonder what his secret was, to keep so whole without corrosion.”

“It’s something we’ll never know. But...Is your death so inevitable? Maybe, we could send Lord von Bielefeld back to your world temporarily, so the corrosion can be reversed and when you’re at full strength we can-“

“No, he has no training in trans-dimensional travel and there is no time ....there is no time.” There was another long series of coughs. “You should have had your healer examine you, too, you know.” 

“Well…” There was the sound of water pouring. “I told Gisela that I don’t need her services…which happens to be true. She’s better off treating others who need her.”

Wolfram moved away quietly. He didn’t need to hear more. He knew what he had to do, for Yuuri...and unlike his counterpart, it would serve a purpose. His life would have some meaning. He’d leave nothing behind to cause anyone anguish. The blond sage would return to his home world...and Yuuri would...he’d have his own sage to console and love him.

~***~

“I suppose I should really thank you, Murata.”

“Hmm?” He pushed his dark brows together slightly, confused. “For what?”

“Listening to my endless prattle…” A huffed laugh turned into another gravelly cough and he almost doubled over in the bed, hand covering his mouth. Murata patted Sage Wolfram’s shoulder lightly, patiently waiting it out. There was little more he could do beyond that at the moment.

Reclining back took effort and the dark sage regarded him pensively. The handsome young man who had existed until hours ago was now gone, replaced with a weak and washed-out imitation. And the blond sage could read that in his eyes. “It isn’t the number of days that we are given in life. It is how we choose to spend them. For, both you and I know that life… _living_ …is a precious gift that we are forbidden to keep for very long. Our only hope is that, along the way, we make it meaningful.”

Murata pursed his lips for a moment. “Yes, but not everyone sees it that way. All they can feel is the emptiness and despair…loss… and the unanswerable question of ‘Why?’ Shibuya is going through that now, I’m afraid.”

“A pity he cannot exist the way we do…knowing each life and each set of memories was not entirely for nothing.”

Murata shook his head at that, disagreeing. “Both you and I know it is not that simple.” A slightly reproachful look followed. “Each time we tell a lover what they want to hear most, ‘I will love you forever,’ we know it isn’t the truth.” He folded his arms against his chest. “That burning devotion, in the next life, becomes little more than a plot point woven into a timeline of our own keeping…let alone memories of children…” A sigh. “Sometimes, I still dream of mine…yet, somehow, knowing they are now safely in their graves…while I go on…alone…”

Sage von Spitzweg nodded in agreement slowly. His heart held that ache, too. “And all of those feelings, the good and the bad, pale in comparison to what we feel for The Maou. That drive is primal, unmistakably so.” He pulled his covers up a little. Then, thinking out loud he said, “What I still cannot fathom is why you didn’t approach your ‘Yuuri’ before coming to Shin Makoku. Making him drawn to you would be simple enough and, given time, you would have won him over completely.”

Murata glanced away momentarily.

“Well?”

“Well what?” he returned, still trying to look distracted.

“Care to tell?” He made a weak gesture. “It’s just you and me and we have a little more time together. Humour an old man, why don’t you?”

“Old man,” Murata parroted with a thin smirk. “You actually guessed correctly…in a sense.”

“Did I?” 

The dark sage shifted in the chair slightly. “My original intention was not to rush anything. Shibuya was so young and innocent. Did I really have the right to taint someone like that with my presence? My true self?”

“No good can come from an association with me,” Sage Wolfram quoted from the Original Sage, their original life.

“Exactly.”

There was a spark of curiosity there—mirroring exactly Wolfram’s expression when something interested him greatly. “But _still_?” Oh, yes. There was still that draw and he knew it all too well.

“But, _still_ , you are right. I entertained the thought over many a goblet of wine. But von Bielefeld had come along and the two of them just fit so well together…so young, so full of energy…so ‘genki’ as we Japanese say. And there was a part of me, maybe too parental, which couldn’t stand the idea of coming between them…especially when I saw that, for the first time, von Bielefeld had a taste of true feelings for someone.”

“First love…with all of its tragedies and joys,” the blond sage recalled nostalgically with the full understanding that the experience entailed.

“Which almost always ends badly,” Murata acknowledged.

Sage Wolfram gave a slightly naughty smile. “Yes, unbearably.” He went on with, “Even in my world, Shinou was…” and then he cringed, putting a hand over his faded eyes. “No, no more of that… I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to remember.”

Murata rubbed his shoulder again, trying to be of comfort. “That makes two of us. It could drive anyone mad.”

A slow, grim nod. “Going mad…”

Murata steepled his fingers. He knew very well where this was going. “There was always a prospect. From the beginning, the Original Sage knew the possibility of going mad from just moving from life to life and remembering the past. Being haunted by it. Now, add to the mix ‘jumping worlds’ in a desperate effort to find one particular world and one ideal ‘Shibuya’…”

Murata adjusted his glasses with a finger. _Yes, that and corroding away on the inside in bits and pieces._

The faded green eyes gave a slow, cat-like blink. “And learning dark magic to make it all happen…to be unstoppable,” the blond sage added. “But, the price of wielding dark magic is so horrific…the weight on your soul alone…” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“And he took lives in a dishonourable way. That cannot be ignored, either.”

“We know what happens to shattered souls such as his.”

Murata frowned slightly. “That’s theory. We have no proof.”

“ _You_ have no proof,” he countered in a whisper, like a conspirator. “But, for my Yuuki, though,” Sage Wolfram said a little louder, “…if it had ever become necessary…”

“That is my thinking exactly,” Murata told him. “To protect, would we act in a way against nature? Most likely. Would that corrupt us? You know the answer to that as well as the consequences because both your Yuuki and my Shibuya would probably never see us the same way again.”

“No matter how many times we were forgiven…” he added, continuing Murata’s thought.

“Exactly.”

“We would be no better off than our dead shape-shifter.” And another cough followed the simple statement.

“You know,” Murata told him while putting another cool, wet rag on his brow, “I really should be put out with you about not telling me the whole truth regarding our shape-shifter assassin.”

A slight smile while drops of water slid slowly down the side of his withered cheek. “It is in my nature to tell everything and nothing…to advise a monarch and protect those around me… To be born alone, live alone…

He took Murata’s hand.

“But, just this once, I do not want to die alone.”

~***~

Yuuri thought that there must have been something in the tea that Conrad had given him after Wolfram’s body had been removed from his arms.

After his cries, his anguished and panicked words, after saying things he couldn’t remember, horrible despairing things he felt fine.

Strangely enough...

He was fine, his mind finding a type of numbness, which made the world fade away as Conrad stripped him and sponged the blood off his body. All he had to do was follow directions, be moved around like a doll, letting Conrad move his right arm up and then his left, didn’t have to think, didn’t have to...

“Wolfram is in the infirmary. His injury was minor, so he’ll be out tomorrow,” Conrad said gently. But he found it hard to understand because his memories were cushioned strangely, pain muted.

Wolfram’s body, throat open in a way that shouldn’t, so much blood, so much. But he couldn’t deal with that now, couldn’t. When Conrad tucked him into bed, he let the drifty floatiness sensation take him away and slept.

“Wolf,” was his first word as he awoke. He had a vague headache and his mouth felt dry. _Where was Wolf?_ Wolfram was always there for him in the morning.

But he had his answer when the memories came back, like a jagged, sharp jigsaw fitting everything painfully into place, and this time there wasn’t any floaty cushion in his mind to make the thoughts easy. 

“Wolf...” He covered his face, curled up into a ball and sobbed. His Wolfram was okay, Conrad had said so, and he was certain he’d know if he wasn’t, but that other Wolfram...that other...he sobbed again. He’d not saved him, not saved him at all. That thought hurt so much. Yuuri’s job was to protect, especially Wolfram. 

Always Wolfram.

Of all the other memories and events from the other worlds that had been shown to him in that strange black void with the Maou, there was only one that had an impact. He moved his hand down over his heart, feeling the solidness of his heart beat. He was healthy, but that other Yuuri hadn’t been. So, when that Yuuri had met his Wolfram, he’d been open to his love, had soaked it up desperately, had cherished that gift like the precious thing it was. _He knew his life was going to be short,_ Yuuri thought. _He wanted to make the most of what he was given in the short time he had left._

And that Yuuri had loved Wolfram so much...just like....just like...

He’d never shown his Wolfram that type of love. Yuuri could see it now. He’d taken advantage of all the things that Wolfram had given him: his loyalty, his courage, his devotion… Wolf had always been there for him and he’d not really appreciated it until recently. And, even then, he’d not shown it, not in a way that Wolfram could see or understand. Murata was right; he’d not made it clear. 

The image of Wolfram, bloody and still in his arms, came to him. Maybe, Yuuri was healthy, and his Wolfram was alive, but that didn’t mean that their lives were safe, that things couldn’t change suddenly. He had to show Wolfram how he felt, tell him how much he meant because...life could be short.

With determination, Yuuri got out of bed. He was going to find Wolfram, _his_ Wolfram, his _only_ Wolfram, now.

~***~

“Sometimes, I really hate this job,” the spy murmured to himself.

Yozak waited, arms folded against his chest—his body leaning against the cold stone wall. Even in the hallway, he could hear the muffled voices coming from the Royal Bedroom. Conrad, apparently, was trying to be soothing. His tone seemed even and patient as it always was. 

_The kiddo’s voice is raised, upset…panicked,_ he thought.

There was a momentary pause, giving him a grain of hope that all had settled down--finally.

Yes, brief.

And, then, it started anew. Yozak’s face grew set and grim from hearing the next volley of words—both in anguish and despair. Over the years, he had grown so used to Yuuri’s good nature and simplicity that this sudden ‘about face’ was almost grading on his nerves. And painful, no mistaking that. Yuuri’s cheerful outlook on life, his firm beliefs, and trust in those around him were unusual in a king.

A rare thing.

Beyond price.

The spy couldn’t decide for himself just what it was: naiveté, disbelief, rejection, torment, blood, suicide, death… Some of those things? All of them? Or, possibly, their young king’s powerful maou form had some sort of hold on his heart that no one else could see. It would certainly explain a lot.

Yuuri’s raised voice came again, on the verge of tears this time, and sky blue eyes lifted to the closed, ornately carved door.

The two castle guards positioned on either side gave each other guilty looks. Apparently, from where they stood, they could make out something.

“Why didn’t someone…?” followed by “And, then, _that_ …Wolfram…!” Yuuri said, his voice wet.

Muffled as it was, Yozak’s sharp ears picked it up.

“But, please listen…” That was Conrad again.

The orange haired man sighed sharply and leaned heavier into the wall, trying to keep himself from saying something that would most likely be the truth. This was the exact same kind of attention that Conrad gave Julia back during the days he didn’t want to remember. Conrad’s hair was almost wild and he had a look— _that look_ —which said he would do anything, absolutely _anything_ for her. No, if he said such thoughts out loud, that would not be appropriate for the castle guards to hear. And he should have let go of those feelings long, long ago.

A rattle of the knob. The door opened slightly, revealing Conrad’s profile. Calmly, the man said over his shoulder, “I will ask the kitchen to bring in some more tea. I will return as soon as I’m done.” He stepped through the door and gave a quiet nod to Yozak, seeing him. Then he turned and said to Yuuri through the gap in the door, “We’ll talk more about this when I return, okay?”

“O-Okay…” was rasped.

There were hushed sobs. And, gratefully, the door was closed. Conrad hung his head for a moment, raking his hair back with his fingers. Without looking at the guards, he ordered, “The two of you, why don’t you take a brief break? Five minutes.”

Without question, the pair saluted and left.

They knew why.

Crossing the hallway with fatigue, Conrad knew where he wanted to be. He stood next to Yozak and threw a look to the closed door.

“You could hear?”

“Yes.” Of course, he could.

Yozak patted his own right shoulder twice. The invitation was more than welcome, and Conrad leaned his head against him, closing his eyes briefly—knowing that this respite would be just that. Nothing more. “Thank you,” Conrad whispered where only the two of them could hear. “I’m doing the best I can for my godson at the moment, but I’m at a loss…” 

His words faded away.

“I understand,” Yozak told him. And he did understand. “Loss” was a part of their world. Maybe, it was their fault for keeping their double black king so sheltered that he never fully comprehended that. But once stained, a virgin soul could not go back to the way it once was—or, at least, that was always Günter’s argument for keeping their king in the dark on certain unpleasant issues.

_No, this was more than ‘unpleasant.’ It was like stepping directly into Hell for him._

Yozak pressed his cheek against Conrad. “Is there anything I can do for you? You know that I will. All you need to do is ask.”

A small shake of the head, “No.” He straightened up and gave the door another glance. “I can work with Yuuri to get him through this. However…”

Yozak cocked his head to the side slightly. “However?”

The second son put his hands in his pockets, thinking of something. Brown eyes narrowing slightly.

“Well?” the spy prompted.

“Actually… You could do me a favor after all,” and then he put a kind hand on Yozak’s arm. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is…”

This didn’t sound like a pleasant task. But, for Conrad’s sake, he would do whatever it took to ease things for him. “Just ask.”

“I need you to find my little brother and keep an eye on him again.”

He knew he hadn’t hidden it well. The reaction was clear in Yozak’s eyes. This was not what he’d rather be doing. What Yozak wanted was to get several bottles of wine and a quiet room with a bed or a couch and just let Conrad pour his soul out to him—little by little—like he always did. Solve things like that. They somehow managed to make things okay that way.

“Wolfram’s been beaten-up…physically and emotionally,” Conrad defended in a solemn voice. It seemed like he needed to now. “My last report said he was in the infirmary. But now… I’m not sure. I need someone to look in on him. I can’t be in both places.”

His lips parted. The words stuck in his throat. And when Yozak didn’t leave right away, either, Conrad reconsidered. “No, it’s fine… I really shouldn’t have asked you after all. I’ll ask Gwendal. When he’s done with everyone…hopefully, he can look in on him and then I’ll join him…”

“No, I’ll do it.”

Conrad gave him a wry smile to that. “No, I was asking too much. My brother is my responsibility.” The smile grew sad and widened as he stepped away toward the kitchen. “I’m sorry.”

Yozak took Conrad’s hand in his and squeezed it, drawing him back to his side with a languid pull. He explained quietly, “I’m worried about you and the kiddo. It’s just that…for a second there, it felt like you were sending me away on an errand because you didn’t need me hanging around.”

“I wasn’t. I’m sorry you thought that.”

Another squeeze of their hands by the spy. “Then, I will do my best to locate…discretely, mind you…and observe your little brother…who means so much to you.”

“Thanks, Yozak. But don’t disappear from my sight for very long.” A slight frown at the thought. They needed each other right now, didn’t they? “After all of the wretchedness, bereavement, and death that we’ve seen, I need you.” A little closer and he said, “I trust you. I rely on you…maybe, a little too much sometimes.”

Yozak took a strand of Conrad’s hair and tugged at it in a slightly teasing way, but it was affectionate. This wasn’t the first time he’d done it. “Well, I’d say ‘too much’…isn’t possible between us, is it?”

His thin smile said, “Same old Yozak.” “I suppose, you’re right.”

A blue-eyed wink. “I’m always right.”

~***~

It wasn’t that hard to sneak out. Wolfram knew the secret passages to the stables well, and he’d used them a number of times when he was a child, before he’d been locked into the castle when the war had reached its height. When his brothers had gone away, he’d thought he’d never see them again. In some ways, he had been right. His beloved Brother and Conrad had not returned, not the ones he knew as a child. Something in them had died, and they were never the same. Or maybe it was Wolfram who had never been the same?

He didn’t look back as he went over the mountain path, at the point where the city and castle would no longer be in view. He was leaving, like his brothers, and he wouldn’t return in any sense. At least, he wouldn’t be abandoning anyone. There would be someone to look after Yuuri. Yuuri would have another “Wolfram” to love, and Greta would have Yuuri. And his brothers would take care of mother.

For a moment that morning, just before he’d gathered his sword and strapped it to his belt, he’d thought about leaving behind a letter for Sage Wolfram, a request to look after Yuuri-- his last plea. He’d decided against it, for it really wasn’t necessary. This Wolfram would love Yuuri just as much as him, in fact, better because he had all the memories and wisdom to help him.

And if, by any miracle, Sage Wolfram returned to his own Shin Makoku, there was Murata. Murata loved Yuuri, too. Where once he’d been so bitter at knowing how many people cared for Yuuri, he was now grateful. Very grateful. Yuuri would be a great king and would have so many devoted supporters and more importantly, someone to confide in at night, someone to hold. He’d never be lonely like he knew his mother had been as queen.

It took less than half an hour to reach his destination--a place he knew well, where he’d played as a child.

He left the horse untethered, for Blume was a creature of habit. She’d wait until it was starting to get dark and would return home to the stables for feed. She’d be fine. There weren’t any bandits to worry about here or large predators this close to the capital. He gave the mare a green apple and rubbed her nose affectionately. She was a favourite of his little girl, and he knew Greta would inherit her. Wolfram swallowed a bitter lump in his throat at that thought. “Be good to Greta.”

He had to stop while walking up the rocky winding path of the hill to rest. His wound was bleeding. No point in doing anything about it now. He had enough energy to reach the top. He flinched as a dozen rocks in the path below scattered, and a rock mouse crossed the path into the brush, startled by something. He laughed in relief, and then laughed some more at his fear, on the edge of hysteria--his laughter ending in a wince as he held his ribs, and he sucked in a few unsteady breaths before regaining his feet.

What did he have to fear anyway? He’d gone beyond that hadn’t he? And soon, he’d be beyond so many things. It was a relief, really. He felt so free now that his decision had been made. Sad yes, but oddly glad. His mind clear of doubts.

He got to the top in time, overlooking the abandoned quarry. The sun hadn’t risen beyond the cliffs yet, only peeking. He had a few minutes to prepare himself.

_What a waste you are in this world. You’re filth._

That other Wolfram’s voice echoed in his head, and he welcomed the anger that rose within him from that memory, anger would make it easier to use his element. “Not a waste.” He voice croaked. “I’m not a waste, because,” he raised his right hand, a flame shot up, hot. “In this, I will have meaning and a purpose.” _I was born so I could save the one who would care and love Yuuri._

That was his reason for his life. 

He said loudly into the gorge, wishing he had said this to that broken Wolfram. He hoped, that somewhere, in someplace, his words would reach that dead Wolfram anyway, and his voice was stronger now as he cried out. “I’m _not_ a waste. I’m Wolfram von Bielefeld, I loved Yuuri Shibuya, and I give myself over to the Fates and the Great One for him.” The rest of his arm was enveloped, and he kept his eyes on the sun as it rose-- bathing the world with its light, and it was as if he could feel the flames from the sun scorched in its flame.

Wolfram raised his arms and closed his eyes.

~***~

A fire god was what he looked like—a pale face and lithe body commanding an element that both lived and breathed. His head was back, chin pointed up toward the sky, arms spread slightly from his sides as though he were a bird ready to fly. With each small movement of his arms, the flames moved and danced—growing hotter and brighter. Passion in the flames and from simply being there. Coaxing them together like a lover.

“What the Hell?!” Yozak yelled as soon as he realized. Before he knew it, he was running in Wolfram’s direction—arms pumping.

The blond stopped. Suddenly stopped. His head turned abruptly, sharply—his body surrounded by fire—churning with him at the center—with his profile both tragic and beautiful at once, began to fade.

Deep gulps of air and he was still sweating profusely. Yozak could see that from where he stood. Wolfram’s crimson flames, the ones that had been shrouding him only moments before, were dying away--leaving him with blond hair wet and lying softly against his brow and the nape of his neck.

Face flushed, he put a hand to his right temple. Wolfram was struggling to stay on his feet—not surprising since death by burning often caused fowl, toxic air that could kill the victim long before the flames ever did.

An “honorable” way to extinguish one’s life if one were to believe such tales. But, Yozak saw few deaths as truly “honorable.” The rest were self-delusions to satisfy honor or desperate actions to end some sort of suffering.

Yozak had already decided which one this was.

Wolfram was half-bent over, hands on his thighs. But he managed enough strength to lift his head, and green eyes stared up defiantly. “Yozak,” he gritted out.

The spy, seeing the grass smoldering, approached with a wave of his hand to push the scent of “burnt” away. He never liked it. “Do you know that when a fire-wielder…a _skilled one_ …decides to end his life, the body burns in a particular way: calves, thighs, hands, arms, torso, chest…” He grinned cruelly at Wolfram. “Your face would be the last to go.” 

He shook his blond head, drops of sweat raining down from him. “Shut up, Yozak. I don’t need you taunting me.”

The spy put a hand on his hip and pretended to not be half as livid as he actually was. “Do you know what they call a dead Mazoku in the human lands…burned at the stake? Roasted two-legged mutton.” He gave a sarcastic laugh and a thumb’s up. “Nice job, there… You almost had me convinced that you were going to need some sauce to go with that barbecued-crispy body of yours.”

“Stop it!”

“Very sexy,” he drawled.

“ _Yozak,”_ Wolfram gritted out between clenched teeth. He closed his eyes briefly when another wave of dizziness hit him. “You have no right to say anything. And how, the Hell, did you know I was even here in the first place?”

“I followed you,” the spy said almost charmingly, coming up from behind now and grabbing Wolfram’s blue uniform coat. There was a doubled-up fist and a pathetic swing in his direction followed by a sharp gasp. Wolfram put a hand to his injured chest.

The pain was still there, and he was hurting.

“Don’t fight me. I’ll win,” Yozak told him, taking the jacket off entirely and then tossing it over his forearm. “And, by the way, you’re too hot with this white shirt on, too. Remove it. You need to cool down.”

“You don’t need to ‘big brother’ me…I have two of my own,” Wolfram complained under his breath.

_That’s it!_ He saw red. How could he not?

Yozak’s wide hand instantly grabbed Wolfram and swung him around. The blond was still bent over with his hand pressing against his bandages, but they were facing each other now more or less. “Damn right, you’ve got two brothers! And imagine… _just imagine_ …what they’d feel if I brought in your _dead,_ charred body. Hm?” 

Green eyes widened slightly. Yes, Yozak had lost his temper, and the tall man was not going to apologize to Little Lord Brat for that.

Yozak continued, “What should I tell them?” He put a hand on his hip as he spoke. “The truth? Should I tell them that you were a coward for abandoning your king and fiancé?”

“No! That’s not it! Stop it!”

“Should I tell them that you decided to abandon your role…your _duty_ …” He shook the blue coat at him. “…As the kiddo’s protector?” He raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “Oh, they’ll be real understanding about that, huh?”

“I told you to ‘stop it’! So, when will you get that through your head?!” Wolfram bellowed.

“So, you admit to being a coward.”

Green eyes grew dangerous. “Never! I never was!”

The spy gestured to everything around him. “So, tell me… What is this? What were you thinking?” His voice implied “You fool” and that made the blond even angrier.

“Don’t you see? I’m not necessary.”

The spy shook his head. “I don’t get that.”

“You don’t need to.” Wolfram was digging his heels in now, his head turning away. “Besides, Yuuri has someone to look after him…so…”

“Oh, you think that that’s going to make him feel better?” And, then, Yozak began to add things up. _Wait, he’s talking about…_ Yozak’s jaw dropped a little. “Are you talking about Conrad?” He took a long look into Wolfram’s face just to be sure he was telling the truth. “You’re capable of doing all this… because of your brother?!”

Wolfram cringed slightly. “It’s more than that. It’s complicated. You don’t understand.”

“Then, enlighten me.” Okay, that one was sarcastic, but that was sometimes necessary, too, when questioning someone.

“You don’t understand. You couldn’t.”

Thinking up another way to approach this, the spy fluffed out Wolfram’s’ blue military jacket—giving himself something to do and a chance to calm down. Being a spy by trade, he noted that the underarms and back were drenched in musky sweat. The scent alone made him think of his days on the battlefield with Conrad. How, side by side, they’d fight the enemy for hours…days…on foot, on horses. They ate together and slept together. By the campfire, Conrad would even read to him letters that his mother would send. Having no family of his own, Yozak enjoyed it immensely—letters from home. Home. Just the idea was a wonderful thing in the life he was living with Conrad. For war was not the glamorous thing in books and legends. It consisted of days—weeks—of “nothing” instantly replaced by the intense terror of the battle field and the constant lookout for assassins with crossbows. That life and the dream of peace—of “home”--only to get it one day with Conrad finding a new companion to keep by his side, pretty little Julia.

_To be second rate and second place…even after her death. Do you think I really don’t know how that feels?_ Yozak thought grimly.

“I feel…strange…” Wolfram breathed.

He was crouched over. The fire wielder’s cheeks were still red and he was growing pale around the mouth. Yozak complained, “Well, it can’t be helped. Here’s my flask. It’s the only thing I have. Drink from it slowly, and don’t complain that it’s an indirect kiss because…” He looked over to Wolfram who was pressing his hand against his bandages and then took it away, looking at it.

Blood.

The palm was red, and he was bleeding through his white shirt.

Large drops dripping down…

“Wolfram!” Yozak said, reaching in quickly enough to catch the blond before he fell senseless. He saw the light die out in Wolfram’s eyes, and the body collapsed in his arms—legs dangling like a ragdoll’s.

_He fainted!_

Wolfram was in his arms bridal-style. The spy looked down into his wan face. “Wake up! Talk to me! Complain all you want. Anything…I don’t care now.”

Taking large strides back toward help, toward Gisela, he said grimly, “Another one of Cherie’s sons I have to save from self-destruction.” And shadowing him was the sarcastic hope that he wouldn’t need to go save Gwendal von Voltaire in the future too, just to make it three for three.

~***~

He was dying. He knew it, and...really it wasn’t so terrible. Wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared, hardly any pain at all. He could feel, distantly, a hand in his. He wasn’t going to die in pain, and he wasn’t going to die alone, or, at least, not alone from this side of passing. He assumed that Murata had laced his water with a liberal amount of painkillers, a dosage that was above what was safe, for Murata knew it, too. He was dying.

He had no more words to say. He’d said them all and now it was time to sleep. The room was getting dark.

It wouldn’t be long, and the drifting was almost pleasant, the darkness welcoming. It would be nice to sleep, peaceful.

That peace was dissolved in the next instant with the sound of a door being banged open, hinges creaking in loud protest as the door slammed against a wall, and the room was bright again, even behind his eyelids. There were voices, familiar voices. Loud and strident, frantic exchanges of words and information which made no sense to him at all. Then, all those voices became distant and insignificant as his brow was caressed and a slim hand pressed against his gently.

“Wolf... _Wolf?_ ” Words soft and hopeful. 

The most beloved voice of all.

Weakly, he opened his eyes to see Yuuki, long hair framing Wolfram’s face like a curtain, her eyes dark. 

“Yuuki?” he breathed weakly.

His left hand was taken, gently but firmly. A ring was slipped off, one of the smaller crystals, and another one gently threaded on. This one felt warm, the weakness in his hand faded, and he could feel the relief move up his arm. It felt like a healing remedy in the blood, moving to his heart and then outward to the rest of his body.

He exhaled gratefully, welcoming the return of warmth.

His right hand was taken and, “I’m here to take you home. So you’re going to get better because I’m not leaving here without you.”

Gratefully, he squeezed Yuuki’s hand. “So, does this mean we’re married now?” He coughed, clearing his throat. “My cunning plan to get out of a royal state temple wedding has triumphed.” He smiled at his little joke.

Yuuki choked, something that sounded vaguely like laughter at first, but then ended in a sob. She crawled into the bed next to him and laid her head on his chest as he petted her hair affectionately, fingers delving into dark strands. 

“Idiot.”

“Yes, I am...for you.”

And suddenly, a peaceful sleep was the last thing he wanted.

~***~

He saw it again and again, kept reliving it.

Behind the Maou’s eyes, Yuuri could see the blond assassin turning to Murata. There was a manic expression as he said hysterically, “You were _reborn_ over and over for four thousand years.” The blond pointed a finger at himself, at the Maou, who only blinked at it. “He was meant to be _our_ reward. Our consolation for all our suffering, for the sacrifice we made for this kingdom and Shinou. That’s why…that’s _how_ I kept going.”

A sickening pause and then this Wolfram’s voice dropped to something flat, a monotone--reminiscing. “Life after life, after life. And then, in this life once more, I was forced to search for him.” Eyeshine, tears on the edge of his lashes. “I could have spent another four thousand years looking for him again. I would have done it gladly.” He laughed, the laugh ending in a sob and he took a breath. “Maybe I have. I’ve lost count long ago. He died in my world, I couldn’t save him. Yet, _you_ let him go.” He turned on Murata, fists clenched at his sides, a renewed fury now. “How _could_ you? How could you throw away something so precious when it was handed to you?”

Yuuri remembered watching from behind The Maou’s eyes—waiting on edge for an answer and, yet, frightened of it. 

Not wanting it.

Not ready.

Murata met eyes with the agitated blond. “Maybe, it is because I grew up with him. I never saw him as a consolation prize for my work. He’s not a _thing_ to fight over. He’s my… he’s a friend who I love dearly.”

It faded away—that manic look, that passion. His expression became blank, hopeless, withdrawn, a thing even more terrifying in a face so familiar. “I loved him, too.” Yuuri watched as he looked to him. “I loved my ‘Yuuri’ more than anything. That’s why…”

The blond imposter raised his arm, and without any more words or fanfare, slit his own throat—deeply, tearing flesh and bone away with his sharpened claw. The warm blood arced out and sprayed with force onto the clear marble.

There was a horrified, wretched scream. His own. When had he returned to himself and the Maou retreated? 

His voice…alone.

Crying.

Yuuri could feel the sudden jolt to his knees as they hit hard on the marble floor. Tears falling….falling…. And all Yuuri could do was hold him and rock the body, whispering apologies.

He was sorry…so sorry.

And angry. He was that, too. Possibly more now than he’d ever been.

“I…” His head hung low, Yuuri muttered to himself, “I hate this so much.” He only looked up when he sensed the lithe, newly-healed body shifting slightly in the bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position. 

“ _…Wolf…”_

_My ‘Wolf’ this time..._

Yuuri was sitting in the chair next to Wolfram’s bed, now watching him sleep peacefully. Though, for Yuuri, “peace” was the last thing he was feeling inside. He had been there, suddenly rooted to the spot in the middle of the hallway when Yozak brought Wolfram in—drenched in his own blood, reeking of the odor, and his hair carried the unmistakable scent of smoke—and the double black felt the blow. He was sick at heart.

_Not again! I can’t go through this again!_

_Don’t make me…_

He cringed. That image in his mind. A “Wolfram,” so much like his “Wolfram,” losing hope and then taking his own life when he felt he had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to.

And, then, Wolfram, _his Wolf…_

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed. Of course, those two would be alike, would share traits. The double black blamed himself again. He should have guessed this outcome. Anticipated it. He should have done better, listened more and talked more. Made time for him, for them. And, now, his Wolfram was here like this. What if Yozak had not found him sooner?

Yuuri covered his eyes with a palm briefly to hold back the tears.

“Y-Yuuri?”

The double black glanced over, seeing tired green eyes staring up at him. 

After sitting there in that chair for so long, he’d guessed that he would feel happiness or relief. But, that wasn’t it. No.

Not by a long shot.

The double black’s eyes hardened and he demanded, “Wolfram, what the Hell, were you thinking?!” Before Wolf could give him an answer, he leaned forward and said darkly, “Damn you!” between clenched teeth—making the blond lean back into the bed. Wolfram opened his mouth to speak, but Yuuri kept going. “And I saw how Yozak brought you back to the castle! You were told not to move around until you healed entirely, and you had no right to be going anywhere. You were bleeding. Bleeding heavily!” He cocked his head to the side and demanded, “Did you know that?! Did you? Of course, you didn’t! You had passed out.” He pointed to the open window. “Somewhere out there, you were!”

Yuuri moved from the chair to the edge of Wolfram’s bed, leaning closer, and his black eyes had an angry sheen to them. “And, do you know what’s worse? Worse than that?” He was breathing harder, and now, there was something akin to fear. Wolfram could clearly make it out but couldn’t draw his gaze away even though some part of his pride told him to do so. “Wolf, Yozak wouldn’t give us a straight answer….of how he found you, what you were doing or why.”

Yuuri was shaking now as though frightened. “And, do you know what’s more? I really think that if I asked _you_ for a straight answer…you wouldn’t give me the truth, either.”

Wolfram’s lips became a thin line, telling him he was right. He was absolutely right, and something cold ran through the double black.

“I thought we were closer than that. I thought I meant something to you, Wolfram.”

“….Yuuri…” Wolfram sighed, turning his face away. 

“Wolf.” The double black took Wolfram’s forearm in his hand and squeezed it, getting his attention. “Think of this another way. Instead of me, what if it had been Greta who had seen you come back like that…limp, your eyes open and lifeless… and bleeding in Yozak’s arms?” His hand shook slightly, he couldn’t stop it. “What if you had died? She would have been heartbroken.”

His pale hands clutched the white blankets briefly. “Look at the way things are, Yuuri,” Wolfram began, hoping to get the double black to calm down and hear him out. “Sage Wolfram is still here… _alive_. But he won’t be…not for long.” The blond fire wielder tried to smile a little for Yuuri, to get him to understand. “I know more than you think I do…I have a better idea of time and place…of one’s ‘part to play’ in this world and how to be of use.”

Yuuri gave him a confused look. “What are you saying? That you’re indestructible…?”

Wolfram gave a short, bitter laugh. “No…far from it. You see, Yuuri…I’m _expendable.”_

Black eyes widened impossibly.

“One day, you’ll look back on this…on what I’m saying…and you’ll see the logic behind my words. And you’ll know that I left you in good hands. My brothers will care for you and Günter will advise and teach you. Greta will grow up to be a lovely lady having you to guide her, and in time, you’ll find someone special to love.” Wolfram placed a caring hand over Yuuri’s, taking the pressure off of his arm while he did so. “Maybe, once I’m gone, you’ll discover that special person is already here…and he will live and be the hope in your eyes.”

Yuuri leaned over the bed—entirely over Wolfram--a palm next to each shoulder. Their faces were close, so very close. The gentle feeling of breath on his lips. “I can’t believe what you’ve just said. Listen to yourself.” He was still practically hovering over Wolfram’s lips, and green eyes, this time, looked almost afraid. They couldn’t do this. And, for the first time, Yuuri felt that he had Wolfram’s full attention.

He had to go that far—and would do more if necessary.

“For you, Yuuri, I would do anything… So, please...” 

Anger. Yuuri could feel it welling up inside of him. He wanted to strike out at something or somebody. The world was upside down, and not even Wolfram could see his own worth anymore. No speeches about “fiancés” or “marriage.” Just a simple “goodbye” and a vision of a better life in Shin Makoku without him in it.

_No! I won’t have that._

Gently, Yuuri pulled Wolfram into a sitting position and folded him into his arms. Holding him made things real, and the warmth of his body told him that Wolfram was alive. There. Yuuri needed that assurance.

“Over the years, we’ve both been wrong…in a way, Wolf,” Yuuri whispered. “You pushed hard. Maybe, a little too hard. And I never really stopped running long enough to see where my heart was leading me.” He buried his face into blond curls, breathing in the scent of “clean” that, with each breath, was slowly replacing the ghastly memories from before. “But no matter what happened to us, no matter where our paths took us…we still ended up finding each other.” Yuuri’s arms held him almost possessively. “Do you understand me, Wolfram?”

The bishonen gave a nod and toyed with black hair slightly. “I do. I understand you, Yuuri. I always have.”

Yuuri leaned back, facing him now. “I’m not sure that you do. What I’m trying to say is that I want us to be together. I want you to be by my side for our lifetime.”

Wolfram looked away. “Kind words… That’s so like you, but…” He watched the window for a second. Sparrows were flying by. “That may not be the wisest choice.” Wolfram’s voice almost failed him, sounding wet. “You may regret those words. I may not even be able to complete you the way another would.” Now, Wolfram took his turn to hold him, to comfort. “Should you change your mind, take back those words…I promise not to hate you.” He shook his head. “I could never really hate you, Yuuri, for something that is not your fault. Between us, things are…what they are…”

“Give this a chance.”

A non-committal, throaty hum. Wolfram was trying to cheer him up a little, patting his back kindly.

Yuuri sighed and rested his brow against Wolfram’s shoulder. He had not conveyed his words, his heart, well enough. He knew that. But he’d try again and soon. Yuuri Shibuya was determined not to make the same mistake twice. He would show Wolfram how much he meant to him—in big ways and in small ways—and, given time, he was certain that he would win the heart of a very stubborn blond.

And he would never relive another day like this one again. Ever.

_Today, Wolfram isn’t convinced, but I have his attention now. And it’s a start._

~***~

Murata placed the crystal on the altar and stood back, waiting for Shinou. It didn’t take long.

“I’m glad to have this one back.” Shinou walked around from behind him and admired the stone. “As much as I adore new shiny baubles.” Shinou smiled at Murata, as he sat himself on the altar casually, his attitude at stark odds with the holy resonance of the chamber. “It’s the old things that I treasure the most. Don’t you agree?” 

Murata pushed his glasses up, deliberately ignoring the subtext. He’d promised himself that today, just today at least, he’d not get drawn into Shinou’s games. He felt drained, the events of the last few days wearing away at his serenity. Even at the best of times, verbal sparring with Shinou was a minefield full of pain and regrets. He refused to subject himself to that today.

“We didn’t need it in the end. It was useless,” Murata said flatly and turned to go.

Shinou appeared before him in a flash of light that wasn’t really necessary, but the god so loved to make a statement. “Ahahah,” he wagged his finger like he was admonishing a small child. “We had an agreement. You promised you would meet those two conditions.”

Murata crossed his arms. “And the agreement is void. The stone is returned.”

“And for that, I’m _very_ glad, but it still doesn’t nullify the contract. I gave you the crystal for a time, whether you used it or not wasn’t part of the deal.” Shinou gave him a somewhat predatory look.

“Shinou, don’t _push_ my patience.” He wanted to leave and get the farewells over with, then he could go hide out in his room in the castle--away from the temple and sleep for a week.

In an instant Shinou’s face became cold. “You know better than to try a god, _my_ Sage. You made the contract with me fairly. The conditions must be met.”

Murata sighed. Shinou was right, damn him, at least in the technicalities. It was petty, small-minded, and mean for Shinou to hold to that, when, in spirit, he had met the conditions of the agreement. But he knew that when he made the deal he couldn’t renege.

“You know, you’d make for a great corporate lawyer on Earth,” Murata muttered under his breath. “Fine, what do want of me?” Or should he have asked, _“How do you want me?”_

Shinou’s face lit up again. “Nothing now, but when the time is right, you’ll be the first to know.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Murata alone with only his thoughts and the running water for company.

~***~

There was the sound of a cough coming from the other side of the ornately carved oak door before it opened. "I thought you’d be here,” Sage Wolfram said to him, entering the temple’s great room once again wearing the rich ebony robes of a great sage. This would probably be the last time Murata would see him in them. Bright blond hair against the dark “uniform” showing his status and his polished sword at his side. Pale as Sage von Spitzweg was, he still managed to look good--very, very good.

“You'll be gone soon?" Murata asked.

"As soon as possible. With Yuuki and my brothers here, we’ve managed to reverse the effect somewhat, but I can't stay long."

Murata gave him a small smile and went back to looking out the window. The blond sage approached it and followed his gaze. Yuuri and Wolfram were talking quietly to each other. Evidently, Yuuri had _finally_ come clean with his feelings, which were accepted and reciprocated, and the body language between the two spoke of unresolved desire and yet to be discovered passion. Virginal, awkward first attraction.

"I'm quite impressed with him. To have waited so long, I mean. When I first hit puberty...well, it knocked me out of any wise serenity I'd gained through having my memories come to me. I knew fire wielders had hot passions, but I had absolutely no idea. I think I slept my way through half the castle before I came to my senses.” A wicked, nostalgic grin. “Good times, good times..."

Murata shared an amused smile with him.

"Yes...Lord von Bielefeld has always been a pressure cooker," Murata admitted, looking as the person in question blushed at something that Yuuri whispered in his ear. Their fingers were laced together now.

Sage Wolfram gave Murata a sideways glance. "And he is _beautiful._..both of them are."

Murata nodded. “Your Yuuki is beautiful as well.”

“I know,” and an amused tilt to the head as he admired the new ring Yuuki had just given him. "You've heard of all the possibilities from the other universes. Perhaps, you should wait a few years before approaching them...you never know." He wiggled an eyebrow to emphasize his hint.

“Well…” The dark haired sage pushed his glasses up and gave him a wry grin. He knew better. "No, that's not a possibility in this world."

Sage Wolfram shrugged and looked around the stark temple interior. "In so many worlds, the sage is drawn to the Maou and the Maou’s passion is equally strong.”

Murata snorted cynically. “Fate and destined lovers are a fairytale. We know this well.”

Lord Wolfram von Spitzweg, betrothed to the Maou and Great Sage of his world, smiled sadly. “I used to think so, too, my soul’s twin.” He leaned forward and kissed him on the brow and then on the cheek and gave him a look of such affection and love that it hurt Murata’s heart.

The blond sage turned to walk away, reaching a hand out for the door only to be suddenly pulled back. Before he knew it, he was in Murata’s arms. An intimate embrace. “Goodbye,” he told him sincerely and only let him go when he felt the body relax in his arms. Sage Wolfram could be so formal in his “goodbyes,” but Murata knew he, himself, was nothing like that. “I will miss you,” he added, letting his counterpart go.

An apple blush on his cheeks. “I’ll see you downstairs when we depart.” And then a hesitation and a parting thought. “Murata, nothing is impossible.” He glanced around the room one last time with his hand on the door knob. “This temple is empty and cold. And, forgive me but ghosts make for lonely company." With a slight wave, he opened the door and walked through it, leaving him alone.

Down in the courtyard below, Yuuri looked around quickly and then pulled Lord von Bielefeld in for a furtive kiss.

This time, Murata pretended that he didn’t see it.

He didn’t want to.

Turning away was easier.

~***~

“Time to go, I suppose.” He pushed up his glasses with a finger.

After saying goodbye to Sage Wolfram von Spitzweg and his entourage, Murata soon joined Yuuri, Wolfram, Conrad, Gwendal, and the others in the courtyard—standing at the back of the little crowd, seeing and, yet, unseen. The wind whipped at his hair, pushing against him and his clothes. But no matter. He remained where he stood. And, from up above, Shinou seated himself in the open window, his ridiculously ornate cape slung carelessly over one shoulder. 

He watched his sage, head tilted thoughtfully to the side from his view on high. It was time, wasn’t it? It had gone on too long. Far too long. Was it even right anymore to have this person bound to him, forced to be by his side? A captive.

Shinou leaned against the windowsill. 

Was this the way to treat someone he loved…and still loved?

_He does seem…lonely._

Murata was still standing in the back of the little group, hands in his pockets now and looking away as Yuuri and Wolfram strolled off to the side once more, deep in a private conversation. Every once in awhile, Yuuri would try to stifle a boyish laugh.

For Murata, this wasn’t living. This was existing.

There was something—a certain something, calling without a voice. Murata felt a chill along with it and turned his face up. There was Shinou—smiling softly, unlike him. He reached toward his chest and pulled out a golden thread. It grew longer and richer in colour as he wrapped part of it around his palm several times. The faint outline of a thread appeared in the centre of Murata’s chest.

There could be no mistaking it. Murata, his mouth agape now, took feeble steps forward as he witnessed Shinou producing a curved-edged knife with a shining black blade and ruby studded hilt. “A…Destiny Blade?!” Murata gasped under his breath. He had no idea that The Original King ever owned such a dangerous thing.

Shinou slipped the sharp edge of the blade under the taut string and looked upon his sage one last time. Sad eyes then closed tightly as though pained.

Shinou’s clothes shimmered and changed from the gaudy and garish clothes that he usually wore to the shining suit of armor and red cloth cape that he once wore the day they’d met long, long ago.

One last time.

One last memory.

_Our story ends here, my sage. For, life is a precious thing. A gift…but one you cannot keep for long. It must be returned, we both know. So, in this last life, the last in which you will ever remember me, I hope you will come to forgive the things I have done…and those I have failed to do. But to bear in mind that, here at the end, I didn’t abandon you…but I did release you…so you could have the one thing I could never offer… love._

Desperately, Murata reached a hand up toward the window. _Shinou, wait! Please!_

And the pieces of golden string fell and blew away.

And Shinou faded away from the world.


	6. Epilogue

“So, are you the one to greet me, I wonder,” Wolfram had said, his voice hollow even to his own ears. Clearly, it was a statement, not a question.

The figure, head bent low, gave a brief bow in return.

“I…I see…” Even though he knew better, the disappointment was there just the same. 

“Only one.” Yes, only one person to meet him and that person, obviously, was a stranger to him.

“This way,” whispered the hooded figure cloaked in long layers of thin, gray rags which dragged across the ground. A twisted piece of unraveling rope acted as a belt--cinching a slim waist. 

As they went, the guide moved forward stiffly into a pearly mist. He continued on without looking back to see that his order was being followed. Wolfram, wrists cuffed before him, followed obediently. How long he’d been doing so, he didn’t really know, but it didn’t bother him, either.

Nothing mattered anymore. If he could shut down all of his feelings, feel nothing, just continue—just _be_ —for as long as he was able to, it would be fine with him. He knew what was going to happen next. Fearing it would not change the outcome.

He’d done so much.

So many unspeakable things…

To others, to himself…

And, now, he found himself doing this—still slowly tramping forward—still wearing his blood-stained clothing from the Fertility Ball, still bright red from his throat down to his chest. And he had more blood—dried this time—on the palms of his hands. _That_ blood, he knew, was not his.

The damp mist gradually cleared, and he found himself in a circular stone room with a rusty metal door crudely set into the wall to his right and a deep, round indentation in the floor to his left. The guide positioned himself at the foot of a set of rustic stone stair steps which were embedded into the left side of the wall leading up. Wolfram followed them with his eyes to see a second tier where there was positioned a balcony with a shoji sliding door in dark walnut stain seemingly floating on its own. Two black iron sconces burned brightly with flickering yellow-green lights and a shadow man could be seen through the opaque rice paper behind the screen.

Somehow, he was able to watch him, Wolfram knew.

“You have entered The Kiva.” The deep voice seemed to come from a faraway place.

“Kiva? That word means ‘the sacred place,’” Wolfram muttered to himself in an undertone. He wasn’t surprised the place existed or that he’d found himself here. Long ago, he had come across sacred scripture which told him that The Kiva was one of the astral planes of judgment for lost or damned souls.

Eternal punishment awaited. He closed his eyes briefly, cringing inwardly at the thought. 

“Do you understand?” came the stern voice.

Wolfram nodded gravely. He understood.

“In your lifetimes, were you not a sage…even a companion of Shinou’s?”

Wolfram took a breath and let it out slowly before answering, “That, I was.” There was a tense moment of silence. Yes, the simple statement would not be enough, he knew. So, the blond continued with, “Still, there were lives in which I understood what I was but chose not to act on being a ‘Great Sage’ or as a companion tied by fate to the ‘Will of Shinou’ …or even as an advisor to a king…but chose my own path.” He shook his head slowly at his admission. “My own selfishness…”

“Were you not educated?” the voice demanded.  
“I…I was…to learn from my past lives…to remember them…both the good knowledge and the bad…”

Another almost painful moment of silence followed and then the figure behind the screen seemed to scratch his chin at the answer. “But you educated yourself as well, did you not? Look to your hands, and they will tell the tale of who and what you have become.”  
Wolfram already knew about his bloody palms and what he had done in his last life to deserve the stains but looked down to his hands again anyway. This time, the dark words and symbols, the dark magic he used at the Fertility Ball, appeared again as charred flesh and oozing burn marks on the backs of his hands.

“Oh, the Fates,” he breathed, aghast.

“Explain yourself!”

He lifted his head, looking at the shadow man on the screen. “I…” His heart failed him. The words left him.

From the stark black sky above, clean water poured itself into the round basin set in the floor—pooling and splashing brightly.

“Who _were_ you?” the shadow man demanded.

Wolfram continued to watch the water. He knew who he was.

The pool’s water began to churn dangerously and then it whirlpooled—casting small sprays which misted upwards in a sparkling column. Images in watercolor began to play across its surface—old pasts, old lives. Shinou meeting him beneath a tree. Feasts and festivals. Leaves falling. Time passing. Face upon face looking to him, smiling at him or talking about things both important and insignificant. And, then…a voice… Wolfram’s own voice filled the room. “Yuuri!”

Standing there, cuffed, Wolfram winced as though he’d been struck hard.

“Yuuri!” he could hear his voice call. “If you do not get out of bed this instant, your schedule will be off and you will be late for your own tea party in the rose garden. A good host never leaves his guests waiting.” A light snore came. “Okay, fine. I’ll just send in Günter to wake you.” A yawn this time and the double black opened a sleepy eye, sat up in bed, stretched-- reaching out a hand while doing so and grabbed a thin wrist. Wolfram found himself suddenly tipped off balance and into the bed. “Ten more minutes, _my Wolfram_ ,” and a cuddle followed it.

Hearing the words, seeing the memory play out, Wolfram could do little more than bite his lower lip. He wanted to cry so badly.

And it didn’t stop. It wouldn’t stop. It kept going—image after image of their time together. Precious time. And all too short. Then… ““Yuuri…I’ll call Gisela.” A quick glance down. He was holding onto Yuuri’s hand now.

“No, just sit near me. She can’t do anything anyway,” the double black replied. His face was pained.

Wolfram looked briefly at a chair, pulled it over, and it seemed as though he’d sat down. A gentle kiss for Yuuri followed.

“You’ll come with me when I have the surgery on Earth?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes. Though, I don’t know why you don’t accept the Maou. He can heal your body if you let him. You wouldn’t need to get a new heart. You won’t have to be ill any longer.” The words were a mingling of hope and despair.

“I don’t want to change yet, Wolf. I just…let me _be me_ for a little longer? If I have to die, I want to die as me.”

“You _won’t_ die,” Wolfram protested.

“Wolf, I could. I’ve told you before. There are no guarantees.”

“Then I’ll change all of fate to find you again. We were meant to be together, remember?” 

“And you _did_ change,” the shadow man behind the screen told him “so many fates…so many lives…all for the sake of your one selfish vow.”

Now, the images on the watery column were filled with burning oil lamps and books. Candles melting down while shaking, impatient hands unrolled tattered scrolls. Blood poured into inkpots and notes written in red script. Precious stones placed in circles of fire while his voice droned in the background, reading from ancient tomes from ancient times. His hands fashioning and setting jewels into the hilts of daggers. Burning books and casting potions which boiled up acrid billowing smoke. Insane laughter, his laughter. “I’ve done it!” Leaps into darkness. Leaps into yawning chasms of blackened veils. There were more faces: confused, concerned, terrified. Men and women, young and old, familiar and stranger alike. A hand, his hand, stretching horrifically with each contorted movement and then striking out with brutal force… Finally, a blond figure in black clothing looked up, talking to him followed by an expression of realization and alarm. A taunting laugh while the gloom enveloped him from behind—traveling, escaping. Another victim. Heavy breathing. Running. “No! Please!” but no mercy. The stabbing of blades, a cry, and the sound of a body falling. 

A new voice. “Have you forgotten the password again?”

“Say hello to Shinou for me.” 

Another body was quickly drenched in his own blood, the dying man’s face puzzled.

“Wallace,” Wolfram said to himself, glancing down at the blood on his hands. “That last one… That was his name.”

“Answer this!” the voice boomed from above. “Look again and explain yourself.”

Wolfram turned from the shadow man to the column of water once more only to see himself pointing a finger at Yuuri Heika but he was speaking to those around him--to everybody. “He was meant to be _our_ reward. Our consolation for all our suffering, for the sacrifice we made for this kingdom and Shinou. That’s why…that’s _how_ I kept going.”

“Is this true?” The shadow man asked in a neutral tone this time. “Was your king and fiancé simply a prize? Something that was _owed_ to you…?”

Wolfram stood there. He lifted his face to the figure on the balcony and a tear slipped from his right eye. “I regret everything… _everything_. But what I said on that day is probably the greatest regret of them all. And I know that the words ‘I’m sorry’ will change absolutely nothing. It will not atone for the destruction that I’ve caused, the lives that I’ve taken, or the blind determination to alter fate to that of my own choosing… But, with Yuuri…with the only true love in any of my lifetimes…I cannot ‘unsay’ what I said.” Awkwardly, Wolfram tried to rub away a tear with the heel of a bound hand. “Yuuri was my Yuuri. He was not a prize. He was a person. My mind was so… _broken_ back then. I was…” Another tear fell. “But with Yuuri… The truth is that I loved him. No, I _still_ love him…more than myself, my being, my body.”

His ramblings could be no more honest than that. And his tear stains were cold against his face. But he deserved it all and then some.

The images on the column faded as the water droplets splashed into the basin and the swirling action came to a halt.

And the room grew silent again.

The end. This was it.

“It’s probably a good thing that it ended this way,” Wolfram said quietly. “I don’t think someone as pure and kind as Yuuri would understand the monster that I’ve become. I’d rather him remember me the way I was before his death.” Wolfram smiled up in a bittersweet way. Now that his soul was here, he knew himself better--what he’d wanted if he’d been given the choice. “Had I known for certain that Yuuri would die…that he would be the one to leave me like that…cast me aside through death...for that’s what it felt like… I would have gladly begged The Fates to let me die first. It would have been easier.”

“The Fates and spirit guides do not strike deals regarding the gift of life,” the shadow man returned. “You, as a sage, should know that much.”

“I do…and I don’t.” The illogic of it fit somehow.

“But shouldn’t a wise one, such as yourself, know that difference? And know better?”

Wolfram shook his head slowly. “Then, I renounce being a sage. I was never very pleased with that life anyway. There was always so much pain wrapped up in it.”

The door to Wolfram’s right opened slowly on its own and a sooty, rolling smoke entered the room from it. “The doorway to the abyss,” Wolfram told himself, steeling his nerves. There was no mistaking it. It was a realm of “death” for the “dead.

He looked up again at the shadow on the screen, briefly contemplating this moment. “Thank you for hearing me out. You seemed less like my judge and more like a mentor I once had long, long ago.” And with a reverent bow, Wolfram turned—making his way to the door.

A hand on his shoulder and Wolfram turned to see his guide from before.

“Wha-?

The guide’s hand gripped his hood and yanked it back with a jerk. “Hi, Wolf. Remember me?”

Green eyes widened impossibly and filled with tears. “Oh.. _Yuuri_ ,” he sobbed before the double black grabbed him--pulling him into a tight embrace. “How…How can you be here? I don’t…I don’t…” Wolfram looked up to the second tier and saw the screen slide open all the way back with a thud. There was no one there.

There never was.

“I don’t understand.” His hands were still cuffed uncomfortably but Yuuri seemed oblivious to it—his arms around his shoulders affectionately, still hugging him.

Wolfram looked around himself—confused. “I thought…”

“This is your place of judgment,” Yuuri agreed, “but you never understood The Kiva.” Yuuri motioned with his hand. “You are _this place_ , you are the stairs and you are the judge…and, in the basin, you poured out your heart. Admitting the truth is hard, Wolf. But you can’t move on until you do.”

“Move on… Move?” Slowly, realization set in. “Oh, I see now,” Wolfram said. A bitter chuckle followed it. “I’m allowed to see you one last time before…” He turned to the doorway with the black, billowing smoke. “A pleasure and a punishment…both in one.” He rested his brow against Yuuri’s briefly, wishing he could at least hold him. 

“You saw me at my worst.”

“Look how it started,” Yuuri countered gently. “Look how everything began…leading here.” Yuuri took Wolfram in closer to his body, holding him, and whispered, “You were afraid and you were angry…lonely.”

Wolfram nodded shakily. “I was afraid but that’s not the kind of thing I could tell you. It was my job to be strong…my burden alone.”

“You were never alone.” Yuuri looked hopefully into his eyes. “But once you face the worst…the worst that can possibly happen to you…there’s nothing left to be afraid of anymore. Nothing.”

“Still, you saw me at my worst just now and…”

Yuuri smiled back in the way he always did. “And, now, it’s time to go.”

“Go?” Wolfram dug in his heels. “You can’t go in there.” He pointed to the doorway with bound hands. “I won’t let you. It is a one way door and that place is not meant for you. I can’t let you! In fact, I won’t!” He took a side step to block the way. “Our separation will be fine this time. I can live with it knowing that you will be okay.”

“Same old Wolf.” Yuuri tried to hold back another smile, but it didn’t work very well. “But, you know, I wasn’t talking about that.”

He took the blond’s arm and began to guide him in a new direction. The pearly mist returned and they walked through the stone wall, much to Wolfram’s curiosity at it. 

“It’s somewhere else.”

“Yuuri, wait,” Wolfram said. He stopped them from going a step further. “You know what I’ve done. You’ve seen it. There is absolutely no way that I can enter a heavenly realm with you. It simply isn’t possible for me and you deserve better… You deserve to be in a better place when you die.”

“Sometimes, Wolf, for such a smart guy you really don’t get me at all,” he told him while producing a rusty key and unlocking the cuffs. Almost instantly, the metal shackles disappeared in his hand. “The things you did, you repented…you said you were sorry and you meant it. Do you know how many souls come through here denying what they did and how they hurt people? But, I knew you could do it, Wolf. I had faith in you. That’s why I waited here for so long.”

“You waited?”

“Yeah... I did,” Yuuri admitted and gave him another embrace followed by a soft kiss on the lips. “I had to. I wanted to.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“For what? For making me wait?” Yuuri asked, taking Wolfram’s hand and leading him forward. “Well, it gave me time to think, too. And that was a good thing, you know. “ 

They continued on through rolling, misty white clouds. A simple stroll together.

“Wolf, I admit that you were right in a way. In life, I should have had more faith in myself and The Maou within me. He never really wanted to take over my life, control me, or live through me. I should have realized that I could have made some sort of peace with him, be a team…just like in baseball…and he could heal my body and, maybe, there would be things I could learn from him to help Shin Makoku.”

Wolfram shook his head, “No.” Yuuri was just giving in to what he wanted out of guilt. “No, Yuuri. You had the right to your opinions, your feelings about your life and your body. I had no right to be selfish and to tell you what to do.”

“You’re being kind, Wolf. But I know how things were…and I had a long time to think on that while waiting for you. Even now…” He turned to Wolfram and the blond’s face reflected surprise as Yuuri’s eyes flicked into snake-like slits for a brief moment. “In the end, we did work out a ‘peace’ between us and I still have a fragment of The Maou inside of me.”

Wolfram’s jaw dropped a little. “This is…”

Yuuri laced fingers with him. “It’s a good thing because…”

“Because what?” Wolfram asked.

“I found out something really interesting.”

“What?”

A sheepish grin and he rubbed the back of his head—black hair spiking up a bit. “The Maou really likes you. In fact, even now, he’s got a crush on you, too.” Yuuri seemed almost bashful when he slowly admitted, “Truthfully, it is more than just a crush.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Wolfram gave a deeper look into the double black’s eyes—knowing that The Maou part of him was in there somewhere. “Are you fine with that, Yuuri?”

Another reassuring smile, a “yes” and Yuuri tugged him along. “You’re worth loving, Wolf. We both agree on that.”

The mist gradually parted and Wolfram saw stretching before him a floating bridge with sprays of water splashing up against it, creating a cascading iridescence. The blond leaned forward on his toes and saw dark, churning waves beneath. On the opposite side, thin clouds partially cloaked what appeared to be a lone, grey structure with a long walkway leading towards a series of steps leading down. There were pine trees dotting the horizon and the rest of the picturesque landscape was hidden from Wolfram’s eyes. 

“Wolfram, I think I’ve found a new home for us. But you have to want it, too.”

Maybe, this was some kind of small joke on Yuuri’s part, but he would enjoy it for the moment just the same. He had Yuuri. He was with _Yuuri_. Anything else was fine, was agreeable. Heaven.

“A home?” Wolfram smiled to himself. “So, you went house shopping without me? It is a good thing my fiancé has excellent taste.”

“Well, I picked you, didn’t I?”

A sidelong glance at him. “By accident, maybe.”

“You were no accident. You were meant to be.” His voice was warm now. “I learned that, too, among other things.”

“I see…” A sheepish grin in return as the mist thinned.

“Where we’re going… It’s a small Shinto shrine. There are thousands all over Japan. This one doesn’t have a guardian spirit to care for it. So, I thought _two_ guardian spirits would be even better, you know?”

Wolfram pointed to himself taking the hint. “Would that even be allowed?”

A boyish shrug. “Well, being a king in my last life does have its privileges.” He met eyes with him and asked, “So, shall we get going, Wolf?”

“I suppose,” and Wolfram took a step forward toward the bridge, but paused when Yuuri suddenly did. 

The double black snapped his fingers. “Oh, and one more thing.” He turned and ran his fingers along a blue lapel with the dark red stains standing out against it. “Wolf’s covered in blood and that’s not good for a shrine, huh? Everything has to be clean and pure.” Yuuri studied his soul mate. “We can come up with something better than this, I think,” and his words were followed by a caress and a soft kiss.

Heartfelt, gentle. Welcomed. Wolfram closed his eyes to it.

When Yuuri stood back, he was wearing an entirely new set of clothes—a white kimono with gold dragonflies embroidered on it. Wolfram looked down at himself. His kimono was white, too, but with a tumbling leaf pattern in antique silver thread. 

He turned his hands over and back again. “Yuuri, my hands…”

“The blood’s gone. I know.”

The double black motioned for him to follow as he went on his way. And, then, he put a hand out and Wolfram took it gladly.

“How long can we stay at the shrine?” the blond asked, treading with a slightly awkward gait in his new geta sandals.

“For a moment or for eternity. The choice is ours,” Yuuri replied. 

“I like the sound of ‘eternity’.”

“I had hoped you would say that.”

“You did?”

“Yup.”

Green eyes smiled at him.

Just like old times. In a way, just as it once was, but better this time. They would make it so.

They stepped on the wooden bridge together.

“Then, let’s go home, Wolf.”

 

END


End file.
